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The first time Chance saw the trend on TikTok, he was confused by it.
"Whoever Reacts First Loses."
What a dumb trend. It didn't make much sense why anyone would choose to participate in this fashion— especially when it came to the cost of destroying prized products and hurting the other partner.
Chance would watch in boredom, as the two individuals would attempt to make the other mad and frustrated, destroying either make up products, expensive devices, etc. After scrolling for a while, the same trend would eventually pop up. It was a stupid trend— one that made seriously no sense. He even debated on leaving a hate comment on some of them, wanting to logically call these accounts out on the stupidity of their actions.
However, Chance was also an influencer. Choosing to start online drama in the comments over a dumb trend like that would be an impulsive choice— one that his haters would love him to do, just for them to find other reasons to cancel him.
Chance frowned, scrolling through yet another one of those trends.
It was starting to get on his nerves.
Frustrated with the betrayal on their For You page, Chance closed his phone screen, chucking his device to the side of the couch. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, his mind wandered, curious about the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he witnessed the trend rocket.
What would get Mafioso to react?
Their mind circled around on the idea. Obviously, he wasn't going to go through with it, but dwelling on the matter wouldn't hurt. It was simply just curiosity.
Chance crossed their arms, closing their eyes as his imagination flowed. First, he ruminated on what his boyfriend, Mafioso, cared about the most. He imagined what would occur if it was broken or taken away.
Well, first off, there was Chance— of course. However, that was immediately out of the question, as it logically made no sense in the context of this trend. Then, he thought about the casino Mafioso was running. Unfortunately, that also couldn't fit in the context, as Chance had no way of wiping that out of existence— and he wouldn't dare touch and ruin Mafioso's earnings. Afterwards, Chance pondered on their two rabbits— Gubby and Spade— but Chance would rather die than ever put a hand on them.
Chance frowned. This was actually harder than he expected. There really wasn't something Chance could do to make Mafioso react in a sudden rage. Now that Chance thought about it, ever since they started dating, Mafioso hadn't reacted in any extreme way towards Chance— let alone truly got furious at him.
There were a couple times that Chance pissed Mafioso off by ragebaiting or acting on impulse, but they always sort out their misunderstandings and flaws after the next two days at its maximum. Chance had never imagined Mafioso as the calm and understanding type before they dated. He had even initially suspected that once they started dating, Mafioso would eventually show his true colours and grow increasingly tired of them; however, that time never came. The more they spent time together, the more Chance felt guilty on ever doubting Mafioso.
Mafioso truly did love Chance.
Everytime Chance made a mistake or allowed his pride to dictate his actions, Mafioso would be a step behind him, guiding him back on the right track. He was patient and kind— someone Chance realized was more than he could ever deserve. Some nights, he would stay awake wondering how he managed to bag such a man, and how Mafioso would ever choose to settle for someone as infuriating and arrogant as themself. It kept reminding him of the one night Chance decided to confront Mafioso on his choices.
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It was dead silent that night.
There was no sound except for the soft whisper of wind drifting through the open window every now and then. Even the crickets had fallen quiet, retreating into hiding after the heavy rain— rather than singing their usual songs.
The scent of fresh rain still lingered in the air, the earthy aroma of petrichor drifting faintly through the room.
The bedroom was almost completely dark, save for the silver light of the moon spilling through the open window. It bathed the room in a soft glow, tracing the edges of the furniture and illuminating the features of Mafioso and Chance's faces.
Chance peered up at Mafioso, tucked into his arms. His eyes softened, closing into his embrace tighter. His mind was racing with tens of fears, hundreds of questions, and thousands of doubts. For a second, Chance felt an urge to cry.
Mafioso's embrace was just so warm and familiar, yet it brought up the lingering fear of being left behind. He wasn't sure why he was that scared of losing Mafioso when all Mafioso had done was stay by his side. It was an odd feeling: fearing an idea that was nearly impossible to happen.
He wondered where that fear came from.
"Maf," Chance whispered, cuddling impossibly closer. "Why do you even love me?"
Mafioso gave Chance a strange look, almost disbelieving that he would ask such a question.
"Why would I not, love?" Mafioso murmured back, pecking a soft kiss onto Chance's forehead.
Their cheeks warmed in embarrassment. Flustered, Chance hugged Mafioso closer. He wished he could become one with him.
"Let's be honest. I piss you off everyday. Plus, I don't even do enough for you," Chance muttered, belittling himself.
"Hey, hey," Mafioso interrupted. "Why are you lying?"
Chance frowned back, flustered at the comment. "I'm not.."
"Yes, you are," Mafioso pressed back. "You do not piss me off everyday. And you do enough. You being here is enough."
Chance blushed harder, tucking his knees into his chest, as he rolled up against Mafioso's chest.
"But why would you— who's so patient and sweet— choose me— who's just an irritating and arrogant asshole," Chance called themselves out.
"Don't say that," Mafioso responded, a heavy look of disappointing disapproval on his face.
"It's true though," Chance continued to bring himself down.
"No, it's not," Mafioso deadpanned. "Don't ever believe that about yourself. Chance, you're the most beautiful and loving person ever. I would never choose anyone else over you."
Chance's eyes wavered. He knew Mafioso was only complimenting him— pushing away all his worries and doubts, but the words circled his mind like a soft record, reminding him how much he truly does love Mafioso back.
"Sweetheart, I won't leave you alright?" Mafioso murmured into Chance's shoulder, already recognizing what he feared.
Chance shuddered lightly, wanting to bask in Mafioso's embrace forever. He simply stayed there, letting himself sink into the quiet comfort of Mafioso's presence. The steady warmth made the world beyond them feel distant, as though nothing else could reach him while he remained there. Not his thoughts— and certainly, not his doubts.
"I love you" Chance whispered out, his eyes closed, feeling the confession pass onto Mafioso through their soul.
"I love you too."
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Chance groaned, sinking further into the couch, wrecking his head to find something Mafioso would be furious about. Mafioso was just so...perfect that Chance felt a toxic desire to find something he could use to get Mafioso to react. He wanted to test it— yet he knew that was extremely out of his place to do so.
Chance folded his arms together, sticking out his lower lip in rumination. There was only one event that Mafioso got increasingly frustrated at him for: his gambling addiction.
Long before the two of them started dating, Chance had always been an avid gambler, spending multiple nights in casinos. They were a rather rich individual, having a net worth of over a few millions; therefore, gambling was his guilty pleasure. It wasn't like they were losing all their finances; they simply just enjoyed the adrenaline and thrill of a game.
When Mafioso started dating Chance, he had instructed Chance to cease his gambling routine, wanting him to stop indulging in self-destructive behaviours. Chance was not too happy with that— often sneaking out in the middle of the night just to gamble. Sometimes, it was difficult prying Mafioso's body off of him in bed; therefore, he often ended up watching TV and waiting till Mafioso fell asleep. It worked fine— until he got caught.
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One night, Chance had returned home drunk. It was one of those night where he'd regret the next morning. He never gotten drunk before on the nights he snuck out to gamble. However, some stupid part of him decided to take a risk, choosing to make the impulsive choice of taking a shot— until that shot because one more...and then another. To their frustration, Chance ended up calling a taxi home, his head reeling with disappointment in themself. He couldn't believe he decided to get drunk while gambling. That was insane.
Chance's fingers firmly grabbed onto the doorknob, twisting it. He pushed the door open gently, hoping to not make a sound. Hopefully, he could make some hangover soup, and everything would be alright in the morning. Maybe Mafioso would leave early by dawn— without thinking too hard about Chance's state. He took a deep breath, thinking of how to resolve their drunk situation.
Surprisingly, when Chance entered the house— instead of being met with a dark house, there was a soft light coming from the kitchen, spilling into the hallway. Chance's breath caught, his eyes wavering on the yellow glow against the wooden floor. A heavy dread blanketed over him.
Tentatively, Chance shifted towards the light, knowing he wouldn't be able to get out to this situation. He didn't want to make himself more guilty than he already was.
"Where were you?" Mafioso asked, his frame illuminated by the kitchen light, his long shadows casting over the countertops.
Chance swallowed, glancing down in guilty shame. His fingers dug into his palms, searching for an answer just on the tip of his tongue.
"Are you...drunk?" Mafioso continued, his eyes searching for Chance's gaze outside of the hazy look. "Seriously, Chance?"
The words wouldn't leave him mouth. Mafioso's disappointment hurt way more than Chance had anticipated. It cut through him like a bitter wound. Chance wanted to apologize, but a toxic part of themself didn't want to admit his wrongdoings. After all, gambling had always been a part of their life. Why was Mafioso restricting them; he was way too controlling.
"Yeah. I drank a bit too much," Chance mumbled out, his eyes dropping to the ground shamefully.
Mafioso's eyes narrowed, frustration and anger lacing in his expressions.
"Where'd you go? Why are you sneaking out in the middle of the night?" Mafioso repeated, his voice tinged with confused irritation.
"I...I was gambling," Chance whispered, not having the ability to completely lie to Mafioso. "I didn't mean to get drunk."
"Chance," Mafioso hissed. "We talked about this."
"Talked," Chance snapped back. "But you didn't allow me to gamble anymore. You're just controlling me!"
Mafioso's eyes flickered, anger wavering in them. His body tensed.
"This isn't controlling you. You need to tell me what you're doing, or else you would end up hurting yourself," Mafioso shouted. "How can I trust you if you don't tell me things?"
Chance's body locked up, the air squeezing out of their lungs. A fear clawed its way up their chest, evoking reasons to how Mafioso could easily break up with them. He was scared; he didn't mean to mess this up. They wanted to cry.
Mafioso, sensing the discomforting guilt in Chance's body language, paused. His behaviour mellowed out, his eyes softening to Chance's tense silence. Slowly, he walked around the counter towards Chance. Gently, Mafioso pulled Chance into a firm hug, squeezing most of the fear out.
Chance instinctively hugged back, his breath hitching in anxiety.
"Sorry..mmmn sorry," the words choked out of their chest. "Maf— I didn't..."
"Shhh...it's alright. Sorry for raising my voice at cha. I should've asked if you were okay first," Mafioso murmured into Chance's shoulder, holding them tightly.
Chance could envision the tears blurring his vision. The wetness stained onto Mafioso's shirt, as his fingers pressed tightly against his back.
They didn't deserve Mafioso.
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Ever since that night, Mafioso had allowed Chance to go gambling again; he eased the gambling restrictions. Although he wasn't allowed in a casino after 10pm, Chance took the leniency with satisfaction. After all, Mafioso was already understanding enough about their addiction. Chance didn't want to push excessively and risk getting it all revoked again. It had only been half a month from their confrontation; Chance needed to react responsibly.
Chance sat up from the couch, sighing dramatically. They couldn't think of something— besides gambling— that would get Mafioso to react in such an explicit manner. He snatched his phone up from the side, hopping up. Guess they'll just go gambling for the time being. There wasn't much to do at home, after all.
- $1000
- $5500
+ $2100
- $16000
- $54000
+ $8500
- $156 000
Oh. Fuck.
Panic surged through Chance's body, choking his neck until he couldn't breathe. He had never lost THIS much before. Chance did lose up to a few tens of thousands, but going up to a hundred thousand was insane. Chance was so caught up in the gamble— after losing consecutively— that he wasn't aware how heavy his net loss was.
Chance swallowed, his eyes wavering on the tab that indicated how much he owed. He was so fucked.
Taking a shuddered breath, Chance quickly left the casino, hoping to push the mistakes and gambling problems to the back of their mind. It didn't happen. It was merely a hundred thousand; his net worth will cover it. Mafioso didn't need to know.
"Chance, are you serious?" Mafioso muttered, frustration blanketing over his words.
Chance stayed quiet, his eyes wavering on the ground with a guilty expression. It had barely been a month, and Chance was yet in trouble again for gambling. His fingers fidgeted between each other, nervous and ashamed of their actions. He couldn't keep eye contact.
"How did you even manage to lose over a hundred k?" Mafioso asked, staring at Chance with frustration.
"I just...I just forgot to stop," Chance bitterly murmured under their breath.
Mafioso didn't find out himself. In fact, Chance had folded under zero pressure, admitting to his loss before Mafioso could even figure it out himself.
Although Mafioso didn't suspect anything out of the ordinary when he returned back from his job shift, Chance felt nervously guilty the entire day. They hated having the feeling of wronging nag at the back of their mind, replaying his financial loss like a loop.
Mafioso came back from a long day, already getting ready to cook dinner. Chance was simply sitting in the living room, their phone turned on in his hand. He appeared to be distracted in the scrolling, but the events that had happened during the day wouldn't stop bothering them. The more his thumb swiped, the more he was swallowed by the itch of admission.
After they both ate dinner, Chance couldn't keep the information to themself anymore. When Mafioso slid the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, Chance trailed behind him, the words lodged in the back of his throat. He needed them out.
Therefore, after admitting to what had occurred during the day and his loss of cash, Mafioso came to a final decision on what must be done.
"You're banned from going to anymore casinos for this month," Mafioso deadpanned, his eyebrows furrowing.
Shock bubbled up Chance's skin, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What?!"
Mafioso's expressions darkened slightly, agitation building up as well.
"We already said you wouldn't gamble anymore. There's no difference," Mafioso clarified. "I was going to ease the restriction in, but I don't think it's a good thing to drag it out anymore."
"That's not fair though!" Chance groaned, frustrated by the lack of control he had on the situation.
"I'll call the casinos and have you blacklisted until I say so," Mafioso softly said— a look of conflict on his face.
"WHAT?!" Chance exclaimed, horrified by the idea.
The thought of losing their privilege to gamble dug a heavy hole into Chance's chest. The loss of control and autonomy over their own decisions burned into a hatred— not at Mafioso, but more at himself for causing this consequence to happen. Chance always knew Mafioso had a strong control over most casinos. His casino was rather well known; therefore many smaller casinos— including the one he always gambled at— would most likely heed to Mafioso's orders of the ban.
"You can't do that," Chance pressed, tightly clutching onto their phone in anger and hurt.
"Chance," Mafioso deadpanned. "This is for your own good. There's plenty of other activities to do."
"Still!" Chance snarled. "You can't ban me from going places! Do you know how controlling that is?!"
Mafioso paused, a look of conflict and frustration flickering in his eyes. He wasn't sure how to come to a resolution when Chance was so hellbent on gambling. Moreover, Mafioso already tried giving Chance leniency, yet it didn't work out. They'll end up bleeding their cash dry.
Mafioso slowly walked over to Chance, holding a hand out. "Just a month, okay? Please, Chance."
Chance stared at the outstretched hand, a bitter anger continuing to bubble inside. However, the longer he stared at Mafioso's open and concerned body expressions, Chance felt himself slowly give in. They weren't sure why. Their anger always seemed to dissipate after seeing Mafioso act so...hurt. After a soft exhale, Chance trudged over, putting his hand on Mafioso's before getting pulled in for a tight hug.
"I'll try..." Chance murmured under their breath, resting their forehead against Mafioso's chest.
He hugged Mafioso tighter, hoping the embrace would resolve the lingering annoyance. It momentarily did.
There was nothing to watch.
Chance had scrolled on TikTok for hours, finding anything interesting to distract themself from. They were incredibly bored. There really wasn't anything to do.
It was a weekend, and Mafioso had gone out for a few hours to buy groceries. The sun had begun drifting from its midday peak, its golden light basking through the windows and settling softly across the house. It spilled across the floors, crept along the walls, and stretched through the bedroom in long, languid beams. It was calm— too quiet. Chance hated a life without thrill.
They couldn't understand what anyone does without gambling. Do people truly just doomscroll the entire day? What a boring lifestyle.
Chance groaned, his eyes skimming post to post...video to video...and finally stopped at that infuriating trend of "Who Reacts First Loses."
Chance stared at the video, showcasing a husband smashing their wife's makeup pallets into pieces of chunks and dust. The wife was clearly in distress, trying to peel the husband away from her product.
The longer Chance watched, the more irritated he got. However, that agitation blended into the dullness of his current situation. For a moment, his thoughts raced, growing petty.
Chance clicked his phone off, sitting up from their bed. They frowned, their eyes skimming their shared room with Mafioso.
Despite knowing the toxicity that came with the trend, he felt compelled to try it out. Deep down, Chance knew it was because he was feeling bitter over getting banned from casinos, yet he tried to pry the thought off as another reasoning.
Chance was an influencer. He simply wanted to be part of ongoing trends. It'll make them popular. That's all.
"Mafioso," Chance called, carefully setting their phone— propped against a stand.
Chance had spent the rest of the afternoon finding any physical item that Mafioso calls dear to him. After some deep digging, Chance could only eventually settle for his fedora. Mafioso only had one sleek, defined fedora sitting atop of their closet. He always wore it around— mainly for his work uniform. It was one of the accessories that made him look recognizable, and he cherished it a lot. Chance wasn't even sure when Mafioso got this fedora. He had it long before Chance had even met him. It must truly mean a lot to Mafioso.
"Yeah?" Mafioso responded, heading into the living room with a curious glance.
Chance rested their hands on their hips, grinning proudly. His eyes shifted from Mafioso to the phone stand, where his phone current resided.
"Let's do a trend," Chance beamed. "I haven't done one with you in a while."
Mafioso's gaze lingered on the set up, a slightly amused smile tugging on his lips. For a moment, his shoulders relaxed. He was afraid that Chance was still pouting and dwelling on the casino bans. After all, it would make a lot of sense for Chance to retaliate after such a terrible loss. Instead, Mafioso found Chance interested in other matters. He was content that they were able to find a hobby outside of just gambling. Even if it was living an influencer lifestyle, where they may be broadcasting their entire life for randoms online, Mafioso felt more at ease.
As long as Chance wasn't participating in any self-destructive activities.
"Yeah, of course," Mafioso smiled, walking over to Chance's set up. "What's this trend about?"
For a split second, Chance wanted to take it all back. The realization that they were truly participating in such a disgusting trend churned in their stomach. He felt sick.
His eyes searched Mafioso's hoping that he could get a hint that Chance was about to mention a terrible idea. He wanted Mafioso to stop him— remind him that this was not appropriate. However, Mafioso only stared at him with an encouraging look. Chance wanted to throw up.
"Uh...it's like— a trend with your partner," Chance explained, realizing his voice was growing quieter by the second.
Mafioso simply tilted his head, intrigued by the prompt.
"It's a trend where whoever gets their partner to react first wins. So if you react first, you lose," Chance slowly explained, his eyes flickering to the open camera on his phone.
His reflection mirrored back. Chance felt disgusting.
"Oh?" Mafioso mused. "That's interesting. So, as long as I remain nonchalant, I win, right?"
Chance stared at Mafioso, who was lightly chuckling to the idea.
For a long moment, Chance felt a sick distaste crawl up their throat.
"Yeah," Chance murmured, forcing a smile.
"You sure you wanna do this?" Mafioso teased. "I'm quite good at being calm and passive."
Chance pushed his doubts to the back of his mind. Slowly, he shot Mafioso a daring look, scoffing arrogantly.
"Yeah, as if. You can't find a single thing that would get me to become mad. You already got rid of my gambling hobby. It's an easy win now," Chance smirked, touching upon the very subject he was sensitive about.
Mafioso gently raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by the mention of the ban. Oh— was Chance trying to find ways to get back at Mafioso with this trend?
Before Mafioso could ruminate on the thought for a little longer, Chance had pushed a small cardboard box into Mafioso's arms.
"There," Chance hummed. "You can store what you want to use to make me react in there."
Mafioso stared at the cardboard box that was now resting in his hands, its ripped edges worn and wrapped with uneven tape. Mafioso traced the cardboard with his fingertips, stroking its rough and stiff textures. Finally, he smiled, looking up.
"Sure," Mafioso hummed.
"Everything is free game, alright?" Chance forced out, flashing a mischievous smirk underneath their nervousness.
"Yeah, of course," Mafioso chuckled, already heading off towards their room— supposedly to find items.
Chance watched at Mafioso retreated out of the living room. His eyes floated to his own cardboard box, in which Mafioso's fedora lay resting inside. Mafioso hadn't wore his fedora going to the grocery run; therefore Chance had the opportunity to snatch that for their "trend."
They swallowed, their eyes wavering once more on the cardboard lid, covering Mafioso's fedora hidden inside. The feeling of the lighter lay against his pant pocket, pressing against his thigh. Chance felt disgusted with themself.
Before Chance could continue oscillating between his choices, Mafioso already returned back— barely even taking five minutes. He carried his cardboard box under one of his arms, propped against his waist. He had an amused smile lingering on his lips.
Chance stared at Mafioso, getting even more nervous. Why was Mafioso so carefree over this? What could Mafioso possibly have that would get Chance to react?
Hesitantly, he flashed Mafioso a small smile and stepped aside, giving him room to fit within the frame of the camera.
"You ready?" Chance hummed, guiding their boxes to the side of the living room table— within reach.
Mafioso simply nodded, crossing his arms and curiously examining Chance's camera.
Chance clicked the record button.
"Do you want to start off first?" Chance suggested. "I'll go last. I'm sure I wouldn't react anyways."
Mafioso tilted his head slightly, a bit entertained.
"You sure?" Mafioso chuckled. "I'll just immediately win if I get you to react."
Chance nodded, confident with his neutral expressions. He was a master at Poker; therefore, his poker face won't betray him now. This was going to be child's play for Chance.
However, underneath the suggestion, Chance had an ulterior motive to behave this way. In all seriousness, Chance was terrified. They weren't sure why they decided to go through with this. They had plenty of chances to stop this trend, yet the bitter pettiness lingered underneath his skin, wanting to get back at Mafioso.
But he couldn't be the one to strike first.
Chance needed Mafioso to make the first mistake. He needed proof that Mafioso was willing to sabotage their relationship— that beneath all his concern and tenderness was still someone capable of finding a reason to hurt him. If Mafioso did something Chance could deem unforgivable, then maybe he wouldn't feel so terrible about what he had done in return. Maybe he wouldn't have to feel guilty about trying to burn Mafioso's fedora.
It was mutual.
At least, that's what Chance needed himself to believe.
"Yeah, just go," Chance smiled confidently, watching Mafioso closely.
There was a momentary pause, as Mafioso's gaze flickered to his box. Then, he looked away and back at Chance with a smirk.
Chance raised an eyebrow, wondering what could possibly be in his box.
Suddenly, Mafioso grabbed Chance, pulling him against his chest by their waist.
"Wha-" Chance stammered, caught off guard by the action.
Tender lips were pressed against Chance's, kissing him slowly and steadily. Chance froze, his eyes widened in shock and confusion, feeling heat crawl up their neck.
Mafioso continued to press an unyielding kiss on Chance, his hands finding their way around their hip, firmly hooking them. Mafioso's hold was strong, yet affectionate; his fingers soothingly traced small circles on Chance's back pelvis.
That's when Mafioso's tongue started prodding, gently pushing against Chance's lips, demanding for entry. Chance shuddered, parting them slightly as he closed his eyes, experiencing the moment without another thought in mind.
Mafioso's tongue found its way into Chance's mouth, gently exploring the shallow areas before gradually pushing in deeper. His tongue danced around Chance's, playfully licking and twirling.
Chance flushed deeper, suppressing a breathy moan. For a moment, he had to remind himself that he was recording this. Chance's fingers trembled, hesitantly raising them to figure out if he should pull himself closer or push Mafioso away.
The kiss was intoxicating— like honeyed warmth melting across Chance's senses, sweet enough to make the rest of the world disappear. Mafioso seemed to know exactly how to draw him closer, each gentle gesture leaving Chance more reluctant to pull away.
It was Mafioso that pulled himself off first.
"W-what the fuck was that for?" Chance stammered, their face still flushed red.
Mafioso grinned, an amused twinkle in his eyes.
"You reacted, silly," Mafioso chuckled. "You lost."
Chance froze, the heat in his cheeks slowly fading away into another type of warmth: soft embarrassment.
"Wait— no that's not.." Chance stuttered, flustered from the kiss and the misunderstanding.
Chance quickly grabbed Mafioso's box, just sitting on the tabletop. He teared it open, and there really was nothing in it.
Mafioso simply used a kiss to make Chance react.
"Wait...Mafioso. You were suppose to find something that could anger me or like..." Chance trailed off, his head a bit tipsy from the moment.
Mafioso only cocked his head to the side, confusingly staring at Chance. "Anger? But flustered is a reaction too, no?"
Chance froze, his eyes wavering on Mafioso. He felt light-headed— like he was tricked, in the most best way ever. Their lips parted, wanting to retort back on how this wasn't how the trend goes, but nothing came.
The problem was...that SHOULD be how the trend should be. Why use negative emotions to make the other person react when there were countless ways to make them react positively? Who had decided that the trend had to be framed in such a negative light? Mafioso had found a loophole— one that even Chance never really thought about.
It took another second for the shame to crash into Chance, overriding the initial tenderness in his heart. Chance could feel his fingers quiver, wanting to crawl out of their own skin. All this time, Chance wanted to get back on Mafioso, but Mafioso had truly only wanted the best for both of them. Their intentions were clear: he loves Chance.
Chance continued to stare in silence. A slow self-hatred climbed its way up his throat. Slowly, he took a shuddered breath, looking away at his own box.
"I...I guess you did win," Chance whispered.
"What did you have?" Mafioso chuckled back, curiosity laced in his tone, as he peered at Chance's closed box.
Chance quickly slammed his hands over his own box, embarrassment heating up their face. Chance couldn't admit it. Not after all this. Chance truly was such a horrendous person.
"Nothing," Chance quickly replied, his fingers pressing hard against the box lid.
"Oh come on. Let's see what you got for me," Mafioso teased, playfully reaching for it.
Chance quickly snatched the box into their arms, clutching it tightly against their chest.
"No, you can't! You already won," Chance retorted, huffing.
Mafioso lightly laughed, finding Chance's defensiveness rather amusing for something as trivial as this. Although he was rather interested in what Chance was hiding inside, he didn't want to push on it too much. Mafioso had an idea that Chance may have found something they could do to irritate or upset Mafioso, but he didn't what to assume the worst of their partner. Maybe he'll just avoid being the cat that gets killed by curiosity.
"Fine, fine," Mafioso hummed, shrugging it off.
Chance seemed to be in deep thought, frowning as they stared at the box in their arms. Mafioso could recognize the lingering guilt flickering in their eyes, and it confirmed Mafioso's assumptions. Although he had a premonition that Chance had tried to sabotage their relationship, Mafioso surprisingly didn’t mind that much. It did feel odd, but seeing Chance’s guilty expressions dulled his resolve. After all, as long as Chance was able to recognize his own actions and make amends, Mafioso was willing to forgive them— even if Chance wasn’t one who liked to apologize in words.
"Hey, it's okay," Mafioso whispered, suddenly reaching out for Chance.
Chance jolted, his eyes flickering up to search Mafioso's warm gaze. Although Mafioso never explicitly mentioned what was okay, Chance knew that Mafioso understood the situation. Reluctantly, Chance threw the cardboard box on the tabletop, next to Mafioso's empty box. Then, he turned to Mafioso and embraced him.
Chance dug his forehead against Mafioso's chest, clutching onto Mafioso like a lifeline.
"I'm so sorry..." Chance whispered under his breath.
Mafioso's eyes softened further, holding Chance back warmly. He pecked a soft kiss on Chance's head, rubbing their back tenderly.
"It's okay," Mafioso repeated. "Don't worry."
"I won't go anymore. No more gambling, okay? I promise," Chance suddenly brought up, lifting his head to stare at Mafioso.
Mafioso gave Chance a strange look, a little perplexed to why Chance would bring that subject up. It was out of the ordinary; however, Mafioso didn't question it. Instead, he returned a smile of his own.
"Just try your best, love," he whispered before kissing the tip of Chance's nose.
Chance hugged onto Mafioso tighter. The phone that was still recording lay forgotten against the stand.
Chance fell in love with Mafioso all over again.
After a long moment of silence with the two of them in each other's arms, Chance realized something was off. Although Mafioso's hold was sweet and gentle, grounding them in the moment, Chance realized that outside of the silence, there was a soft ticking. It bounced in their eardrum— like an annoying mosquito nag. Something about the sound was familiar— like an uncomfortable count down.
Chance frowned, his eyes opening to search for the source of the sound. Did their clock break down?
Their eyes lifted to look for a clock of any sort in their living room; however, they found none. Instead, his eyes locked onto the lamp, illuminating the living room in the corner of the room.
The lamp looked weird.
❚❚
"Chance," Elliot murmured, tapping on Chance's shoulder. "It's time to get up. A round's gonna start soon."
Oh, yeah. That wasn't real.