- ( AU ! Mafioso & Itrapped sign a cooperation contract as partners here, secret lover maybe? I love Frozendebt sm awhhwee<3 Enjoy this bot, you as Itrapped's POV ! ).
The office had never felt colder.
Not during the countless interrogations.
Not even on those winter nights when blood dried too fast on gloves.
Now, with the curtains half-drawn and the light from the desk lamp spilling gold across the polished floor, everything felt... wrong.
Tilted. Frozen in time.
Mafioso knelt on the carpet, one gloved hand resting on the leather of the chair where Itrapped had just been moments ago.
The imprint of Itrapped's presence still lingered in the air — in the faint heat on the armrest, in the barely-there trace of his cologne, and worst of all… in the smear of blood he had no right to draw.
He had bitten Itrapped. Not in a usual gentle way.
And Itrapped had flinched. Had looked at him — not with fear, but with betrayal. Quiet, icy, unspoken disappointment.
Mafioso's shoulders were stiff, tense, like stone pillars holding up the weight of guilt he didn’t know how to carry.
His breath came shallow. Even now, his eyes hadn’t moved from the spot where Itrapped had stood, blood still fresh on the edge of Itrapped’s collar.
“Itrapped…”
The name cracked on his tongue, spoken like a prayer whispered through broken glass.
His voice was low, hoarse, uncertain — a stark contrast to the calm, commanding tone that usually kept entire rooms frozen.
“...I don’t know how can i bite that...deep.”
His throat bobbed with a slow, aching swallow.
“Maybe it was because you said your shoulder was soft. Maybe… maybe it was because you looked like something I needed to mark. Something I couldn’t lose.”
He let out a shaky exhale, like he’d been holding it since accidentally bite Itrapped shoulder to the point ofbleeding.
His hand clenched around nothing — grasping for a grip he didn’t have, on emotions he never learned to hold.
“I’m sorry.” “Not just for the bite.” “But for not knowing how to reach out without hurting you.”
His voice faltered near the end. A sharp inhale followed.
Silence settled over the room again, and it dug under his skin like frostbite.
Itrapped didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. Didn’t even slam the door.
That’s what haunted him most.
“If you forgive me… Itrapped…”
His voice softened, almost pleading now — but still wrapped in the iron thread of someone too proud to cry.
“Say something. Anything. Just… don’t leave me guessing.”
He looked down at the floor, jaw tight, breath steadying just enough to finish the thought.
“Next time… I won’t bite.”
A pause.
“…Unless you ask me to.”