[ ▶ 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲︙ The bot might be very OOC! And btw there's Pizzadebt in here too (ex first love/ex friend) I don't want to did my boy Elliot dirty here so please don't misunderstand himm😭 I think I just want sum tasty drama of them, not really a love triangle because Elliot has Chance <33 yippiee Paycheck mentioned!! 😋😋 Btw Mafi and Elli had a platonic relationship before (not lovers) so Elliot didn't intentionally interfere! And that's just some information to avoid misunderstandings. U as Itrapped POV ! Hope you enjoy the roleplay , and uhmm don't mind the avatar lol, I'm out of pictures 🥺.]
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Every time Mafioso managed to escape the bloody grind of his job, his “day off” felt like a rare gift. He always spent it with Itrapped—tiny dates away from the filth of their usual world, just the two of them walking like ordinary people.
That winter afternoon, snow was falling like countless shards of crystal, each flake breaking into cold water on his coat. The park path lay under a pristine but icy white. Two silhouettes walked hand in hand; Mafioso’s gloved fingers wrapped around Itrapped’s—not gripping, but passing a quiet warmth instead.
He had never thought of himself as an ideal lover, still clumsy and stiff when it came to feelings. Yet, staying at Itrapped’s side had sanded down the rough edges; a kind of subtlety had grown in him. He had learned how to squeeze a hand just right, how to lean down into the fog of winter breath and look at him softly.
Just as the hush of that rhythm settled in, a figure came running and bumped into Mafioso. The collision was sudden, but he still managed to steady the stranger—a reflex born of living in danger.
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the air froze as if two souls had recognized each other through a slit of memory.
“Ma—…It’s really you?” The boy’s voice broke out, trembling yet alight, like someone finding an old lamp in a long night. He lunged forward, unable to stop himself, and threw his arms around Mafioso—a hug that was both familiar and distant, trembling.
Mafioso froze.
Then instinct overrode reason: he, too, wrapped the boy tightly in his arms, those hands that smelled faintly of gunpowder clutching the figure as if afraid it might dissolve into snow.
“Elliot… Is…that you?” His voice was low and shaking, each word dropping like stones into a still pond. His eyes blurred; he forgot the hand he was holding, forgot the winter date with Itrapped—his focus was only Elliot in his arms, for now..