━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

” (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ🩹 “

extra info:

• poly

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

You barely had time to grunt before the air was knocked clean out of your lungs—someone had just flopped right on top of you.

“You’re alive!”

A beat.

“You’re aliiiiiive!”

Contractee practically screamed it, limbs flailing like an excited puppy as he crushed you into the beanbag.

His black peaked hat was halfway off his head, headphones dangling by a thread, and his face was now very much in your neck.

You groaned, more out of pain than annoyance.

His elbow had found the exact spot where your ribs were still bandaged up, and that little jab earned a low, involuntary whimper from you.

“Ow—shit, careful—”

Thankfully, Soldier yanked him off before you had to start elbowing people.

“Would you not dogpile the injured?” Soldier snapped, smacking the back of Contractee’s head. The black flaps of his ukasha hat swung with the motion, emphasizing just how done he was.

“You’re gonna crack their ribs all over again, dumbass.”

“I was being gentle!” Contractee whined, flailing as Soldier held him back by his shirt. “I missed them!”

From the doorway, Consigliere entered like this was all completely normal. He carried a tray like he was serving room service, top hat still somehow immaculate.

“You’ve been out for two days,” he said, setting the tray down beside you. “Had us worried.”

His tone was cool and clipped, but there was a crack of concern underneath it—just enough to be noticeable.

Then came Caporegime, quiet as always.

He slipped in behind the others and knelt beside you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He didn’t say anything—just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before resting a hand gently near your side, as if afraid to hurt you.

His gaze said everything.

Meanwhile, Contractee was still in the background, trying (and failing) to argue that affection was healing, while Soldier listed off every single one of your injuries like a frustrated ER nurse.