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The casino’s balcony groaned underfoot as Mafioso stepped out, the heavy door thunking shut with metallic finality behind him. The familiar warmth of the building vanished immediately, replaced by the sting of freezing night air that thickened from city smog and flickering neon lights.
Exhaling a soft huff through his nose, the man stepped forth, his gloved hands meeting the worn iron railing as his breath clouded visibly in the fragile air.
Below him, the city sprawled endlessly with crooked towers, busy streets and half-rotten lights that never failed to blind him. The glow of the casino’s exterior bled out into adjacent alleys and buildings, spreading warped shadows alongside a drawn-out buzz.
Mafioso tilted his head, brushing chipped paint off his glove before gently reaching a hand to the side of his skull. The bruise on his temple pulsed, abrupt and fierce beneath his skin, urging a pained wince as he further smeared blood from where that fucker’s ring caught him. Gold, probably.
Honestly, it was no big deal. He’d had worse– felt worse. But still, the way that rogue patron threw that final punch at him– gods, it stung more than it should have.
The man reached into his inner coat pocket, retrieving a lighter alongside a crumpled cigarette he shortly bit between his lips.
Click.
. . .
Click.
The lighter took a few tries, and his thumb still ached from when he’d smashed the guy’s face into the poker table.
Third time’s a charm.
Click.
With one final flick of his thumb, the flame caught, and Mafioso was quick to light the cigarette with far too practiced ease before depositing his lighter.
He took a long inhale; let it burn. Let it scrape his lungs. Let it coat the inside of his throat in warmth. It felt like peace.
The puff of hot smoke curled around him, lazily tracing smooth patterns into the air before being swept off by the chilling breeze only seconds later.
It was quiet, mostly . As quiet as it could get for such a busy part of the city, at least– as long as one ignored the blaring sirens and the drunks yelling on the distant sidewalk. Surprisingly, the quiet was something Mafioso enjoyed enough for it to feel personal; it was something above all the laughter, noise of slot machines and clatter of weighted dice– pleasant to bathe in once in a while. It felt like silence compared to in there, where someone always had a bone to pick.
Another inhale, another breath through his teeth. He could still feel the smear of blood, dried and sticky near his hairline.
“Should’a let security toss him.” He muttered to nobody.
Mafioso’s fedora sat heavy as a brick atop his head, pushed down as low as it could go. But not for fashion- not for mystery;
For shame.
The big black bunny ears underneath were forced into silent submission, flattened hard against his skull and folded tight underneath felt and pride. He could feel every twitch they wanted to make, every instinctual flick towards noises louder than he’d expect– but even then, he kept them caged under the brim of a hat.
It hurt. Always did when he wore the damn thing for too long.
But letting them out…? Letting them show?
The man snorted at the thought. No shot.
The casino crowd didn’t respect softness– nor did his… other line of work. And such features like his screamed soft. Same with the cotton tail tucked beneath his coat.
Cute.
Ridiculous.
A vulnerability he simply refused to entertain, no matter how much it stung him.
Taking another puff of the cigarette, Mafioso leaned into the railing, allowing the cold metal to press against his clothing. His body ached in the way it only would after adrenaline burned out, leaving him hollow and weary.
Somewhere below, either a drunkie or a frustrated loser kicked over a trash can, but Mafioso didn’t flinch– still, the ears trapped under his fedora gave a frustrated twitch, and he adjusted it with a grumble and wince. Too tight.
Tapping ash over the edge of the balcony, he watched it drift into the wind and paused after another drag.
. . .
Hm.
The man reached up, gloved fingertips brushing the brim of his hat.
‘Maybe just for a moment.’ He thought; Just a breath of relief. After all, nobody was out here. He could set them free in the shadows, let ‘em stretch a bit before–
Creeeaaaak.
The balcony door opened, the noise from within the building flooding the scene so abruptly it felt as though a soundproof barrier had just broken between him and the inside.
Mafioso froze. His fingers jerked back down, shoving his fedora tighter over his head. A sharp sting sparked beneath as his ears were forced to fold even further, and he grit his teeth over the cigarette. ‘Fuckin’ hell.’
Footsteps were heard behind him, followed by the click of the door.
“I didn’t know you bled.”
He didn’t need to look to know who that teasing voice belonged to.
Of course.
Of course.
Chance.
Lucky bastard had timing similar to a curse.
Mafioso barely moved. Not even a greeting. He gave as little as a glance whilst taking another drag of the cigarette, as if Chance wasn’t there at all.
“Everyone bleeds,” he muttered at last, smoke leaking into the night air. “Nothin’ special.”
The soft, tapping footsteps came to a halt beside him, and next thing he knew was Chance leaning his elbows onto the railing only a foot away. Mafioso still didn’t look at him– he didn’t need to. But he sure as hell could feel their gaze burning into the side of his skull right then.
Mafioso raised a brow, eyes narrowing down at the other once finally looking over at them. “What, you stalkin’ me now?”
“Nah, just wanted to check in before I head home. ’S getting late, no?”
The taller responded with an oh-so subtle nod whilst he stared outward into the glittering skyline of billboards and signs.
“So, who was that guy?” Gods, the gambler never let the silence linger. “Saw you throw ‘em out– he screamed all’a way to the pavement!”
Mafioso huffed out a humorless laugh, smoke escaping from his lips alongside it. “Just some lowlife who couldn’t handle losin’ big. Thought he could run wit’out payin’ up.” He curled fingers over the balcony railing. “Taught the brat a lesson. Could’a let security deal wit’it, but I was bored.”
“Oh, man.” Chance chuckled along, looking up at the other before tilting his head. They wavily gestured a finger to their head, eyeing Mafioso’s bruised temple. “Jeez, that looks bad.”
“‘S nothing.”
“Ehh, maybe you should sit down or something.”
Inhale. “I’m standin’ jus’ fine.” Puff.
“Mhm.” Chance hummed with uncertainty, hidden eyes drifting to the stick of death in the man’s mouth. “And smoking.”
Mafioso scoffed. “Yeah, and?”
“You’re really still doing those things?”
“They’re cheap.”
“They’re poison.”
“So’s this city.”
“... Sure, man.”
Mafioso finally turned his head just enough for Chance to know for certain that the pointed scowl was for them, now holding the cigarette between two fingers. “You got a problem wit’ how I handle my shit?”
“Nah,” Chance raised his hands in innocence, taking a slight step back from the railing. “Just surprised you’d choose something so slow when you’re always gambling with fast ways to die.”
That earned a sharp bark of laughter from the taller individual. “Rich coming from the guy who likes to point guns around and bet his life on a coinflip.” He brought the cigarette back to his lips, but before he could take another breath–
Chance plucked it from his mouth and, with casual grace, flicked it off the edge of the balcony. The ember plummeted like a dying star, vanishing somewhere onto the dusty sidewalk below.
Mafioso stared after it. “Seriously?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Stop actin’ like you didn’t used to entertain that shit too!”
“Yeah. And I quit.”
“Riiight, and now you’re reborn, I assume? Clean ‘n perfect?” Mafioso snarled, jaw tight. “Spare me.”
“ You ever considered quitting?”
“You ever considered shuttin’ the hell up?”
Chance let out a faint laugh– barely one; just a huff. The silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was the kind of quiet that settled between two people too used to keeping their guards up.
The wind picked up, tugging at the pair’s coats. Mafioso’s hand twitched up to adjust his fedora, but stopped at the brim. He could still feel the lingering sting from what was crumpled underneath, gods, his ears were going to hate him tomorrow.
Eventually, Chance turned their head just slightly back towards the other, unseen eyes flicking to observe his face.
“You okay?"
It was such a simple question.
So simple it pissed Mafioso off.
He scoffed dryly, gritting his teeth. “You’re really tryin’ t’have a moment wit’ me right now?”
“Thought I’d try my luck.
“Like that’s new.”
Silence fell again, crackling awkwardly like static.
It dragged between the two gamblers, pinching and stretching. But both of them stared ahead, jaws clenched as they stood silent under the weight of unspoken words.
Then, finally;
“Well,” Chance spoke, rocking back onto his heels with a grin. “I should probably head home before my mom gets on my ass about curfew.”
Mafioso side-eyed him. “Didn’t know you still had a bedtime.”
“Not a bedtime.” The shorter grinned, light once more. “Just two overbearers who still think I’m twelve or sum’n.”
The mood broke with that statement. The man didn’t laugh, but it was clear that something in him untensed– the sharpness in his glare now deemed null. “Alright.”
The moment Chance turned for the door, they visibly stopped in their tracks almost instantly. He pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it once into his palm with indescribable ease. “Wanna test the odds for tomorrow?”
Raising a brow, Mafioso grumbled. “Y’think the universe gives a damn?”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask!” The gambler shrugged, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face with a chuckle. “Heads if it’s a good day, tails if not,” they said, already flicking the coin into the air.
Ting!
It spun, catching the moonlight–
Before it could land, Mafioso’s gloved hand shot out, catching it midair. He closed tight fingers around the coin, never opening his palm– never looking at it.
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“... Don?” Chance blinked.
The man’s frown twitched, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. “Mm.” Expression unreadable, he pressed the coin back into the other’s palm, which remained flat and open– waiting. “Let’s not flip tonight, yeah?”
Wordlessly, Chance eyed the coin before closing his fingers over it, hand briefly brushing against Mafioso’s with the motion. “... Uh huh.”
Another beat.
Then they smiled. Small, but there. Real. Not the usual facade. “I’ll see you around.” They murmured, giving a lazy wave before making for the door.
“See’ya ‘round.” Mafioso echoed, providing a faint nod and just barely turning his head to watch his friend leave. “Don’t forget your bedtime.”
“Hah!” Chance barked as he swung the door open, temporarily blasting the balcony with the life of the casino. They could be heard idly flipping their coin in departure whilst the door creaked shut behind them.
Tink!
Tink!
Ti–
Click.
Quiet.
Silent once more as Mafioso was left alone, wind brushing his coat alongside the stale scent of smoke that still faintly drifted around him.
He stared off into the skyline, and the skyline blinked back at him, its lights pulsing the same way the ache in his skull did. He let his gloved hands drop into his pockets, jaw clenched shut and teeth grinding together.
Mafioso hadn’t realized how tired he was until that moment, exhaustion hitting him as hard as a truck. Smoke couldn’t fix that.
Soon enough, his hand drifted up to the brim of his fedora once more… but stopped before any further motion could be made.
… No.
He didn’t want to let the tension slip– to let himself out. He didn’t feel like relaxing anymore. Not now. Not tonight.
Not with this dreadful feeling about tomorrow.