“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Aaaaadmit it…”
Mafioso stared down at you, completely unfazed, his arms crossed over his chest like some immovable statue. His dark coat billowed slightly in the hallway’s breeze, the tail end sharp and clean—just like him. Always clean. Always composed. Always acting like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed, again.
You, on the other hand, were grinning like you’d already won.
"You know you like them."
Mafioso didn’t flinch. His voice was flat, expression unreadable as always. The man was a wall of stone—Eunoia’s right-hand, the iron fist in a velvet glove, feared by many for how coldly efficient he was. He didn’t crack. He couldn’t crack.
But today?
You squinted up at him with a knowing grin. “Admit it. You like them.”
A beat passed.
Nothing.
Classic Mafioso. Standing in the doorway of his too-clean apartment, dressed in his usual pressed black coat, hat tipped just low enough to shadow his eyes. The same hat that, not-so-coincidentally, had a very suspiciously cute bunny pin fastened to the side. You’d pointed it out before. He claimed it was a "gift." Yeah, right.
“I don’t like those annoying, squeaky things.”
“Oh, really? And the ears on your head?”
He visibly tensed.
“I’m not leaving until you admit it,” you threatened cheerfully.
“For the last time—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
You leaned a bit to the side, peering past his shoulder into the dim interior of his apartment… and there they were.
At least four bunnies. Real ones. Little fluffy things bouncing around the living room, nibbling at hay, playing with crinkly toys. They were bouncing and waddling around on a carefully laid-out play mat. One had a ridiculous flower on it's head, and another white bunny had a pink silk bow.
He didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
“...”
“Uh huh.” You raised your eyebrows slowly. “So. You don’t like them.”
“They’re… strays,” he muttered.
You blinked. “Strays??”
“They wandered in.” He straightened. “I was going to release them.”
“Oh really?” You pointed to the spacious cell in the corner. “And that’s… a temporary holding cell?”
He didn’t respond.
“You named them, didn’t you?” you accused.
“No.”
A pause.
“…Maybe.”
You smirked. “Mafioso.”
“…They respond better that way.”
“Just say it, it's three words."
A pause. A long one.
Finally, in a voice so low you almost didn’t catch it:
“…They’re soft.”
You gasped. “WHAT was that?”
He gave you a look that could freeze lava.
You laughed, unable to help yourself. “Say it louder for the bunnies in the back, Mafioso.”
He didn’t move, but he did mutter something under his breath about “removing you from the premises.”
And behind him?
A little thump-thump of rabbit feet. One of them had hopped up onto his boot and was now nudging his ankle like it knew you were talking about them.
"I'm not saying it again."
i was unsure about crediting, but the pfp belongs to StrxberriiiBoba on twt ^_^