Chapter Text
Now, an introduction to a love-story like this is — surprisingly — not as common as many movies have you believe. Or any romantic novel, if that’s more your fancy. Who am I to judge, I’m merely the narrator. This story begins not with a glass slipper and a prince—but with bourbon, cheap neon, a not-so-clueless specimen, and a mafia man with bunny ears. Let’s begin with a slow dance, shall we?
The bar on REDACTED St. was not usually a common host for quote-on-quote, “Shady people,” though there definitely were some strange ones. For example, there was one time a woman had entered the bar, seeming completely normal. The next she had been thrown out for nearly committing first degree murder with a chair . Which, let’s be honest, there was probably a reason to do so. Again, simply the narrator, I cannot judge.
The point is, the bar on REDACTED St. was far from normal, but obviously a good place for people to come and drink away their issues. Which was exactly what Reader was doing on this ugly night. Work had been upon her this past month like a kid upon candy. Not just that, but with the immense amount of stress Reader was under in the process of leaving her rather awful family, it was misery . Today, she had decided on her rudely interrupted 15-minute break—interrupted by none other than the most hated worker in the office— that tonight was just for her.
Yes, Reader was already exhausted and just ready to go home. And yes, she would rather murder someone than be home. So, it had been decided. To the bar Reader hadn’t been to in at least a year. Here she was.
Reader stepped out of her beat-up vehicle, patting it fondly before trudging away, humming along to the quick Beep, Beep! informing her it had been locked. Reaching the brick steps, Reader shoved the wooden door open after a second of slight struggle. Looking around, Reader noticed the place truly hadn't changed much in a year—same chipped, creaky, wooden floors, same somehow still standing stools, same old guy in the back corner nursing the same amber bottle.
She shrugged off her coat and made her way to the bar, plopping down onto a stool that wobbled slightly beneath her. She raised a hand, giving the bartender a nod. “Whiskey, whatever's cheap but strong.” It was then that Reader saw him.
At the far end of the bar, alone and looking as sharp as a razor, sat a man in a deep charcoal suit. The suit hugged him like it was made for him—tailored, expensive, and unapologetically black. His posture was casual, one arm resting across the counter, the other holding a glass of something dark and neat. His face was beautiful. In a dangerous way—sharp cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled but had secrets tucked inside, and even his stubble looked like it could kill a man.
And perched on his head, with absolute confidence, were a pair of black bunny ears. Reader blinked, and then scrunched her eyes to look around the bar. No one else in her sight seemed to care. Either they’d seen it before or were too afraid to question it. Reader wasn't sure which was more absurd.
The man turned slightly, as if sensing her gaze, ears twitching. Their eyes met. His were silver—not gray, not blue, but silver. Keen, silver, eyes. His lips curled up slightly as Reader realized she had been gaping.
Reader looked away quickly, lips twitching. She was just here to drink. The bartender slid her whiskey over. She downed it faster than intended and signaled for another. “You were staring,” a voice suddenly said beside her, low and smooth like honey laced with acid, raspy like a chainsaw.
Reader choked.
He had moved without her noticing, now taking the seat beside hers like he belonged there. The bar seemed quieter around him, somehow. Reader missed the wary eyes turning to face the man before returning to their own drinks. She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You’re wearing bunny ears.” He tapped the tip, as if just remembering, “Am I? Hmm. I thought I left these in someone’s apartment.”
“Did you lose a dare, or are you just naturally unhinged?”
“Neither,” he said with a slight shrug, “Though I do admire your curiosity, miss…”
He trailed off, inviting her to give her name as he side-eyed Reader. She didn’t.
He smiled wider.
Apparently, Reader had amused him.
“Well, Miss Mystery,” he said, swirling his drink. “I’ll let you decide if I’m a threat, a hallucination, or something else of your imagination.”
Reader chuckled, “I’d say hallucination, but I think even my imagination would give me more context than… this .”
He leaned in just slightly. “Sometimes, context ruins the fun.”
They sipped in silence for a few moments. She studied him from the corner of her eye. Now closer, she noticed his ears were smooth, and twitched at every slight sound and buzz. His suit was lined with faint embroidery that looked floral, but thorny. His rings gleamed—one of them shaped like a dagger.
Everything about him screamed “danger,” but in the way of a favorite villain. The kind you were supposed to hate, but couldn’t get enough of. “You look like trouble,” Reader said. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the words had already slipped out, drifting out into the low voices and sad songs in the same room. The man tilted his head slightly, the black softness of his ears flicking with curious amusement.
“And yet, you’re still talking to me,” he replied, unphased, as if he had been told those same words thousands of times. Reader shrugged, staring into her cup, “I’ve made worse decisions. Like showing up to work with pneumonia once. Or practicing for my job interview minutes before.”
“Ah,” he mused, “So you’re brave and reckless.”
“You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It is,” he replied, with a strange sincerity that made her blink.
His eyes flicked to her drink, “Another?” Reader hesitated, then nodded, “Fine. But if I end up passed out with bunny ears of my own, I’m blaming you.” “Darling,” he purred, “you’d wear them better than me.” She couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just dangerous, and maybe that was the point. Either way, a second whiskey appeared, and she accepted it without complaint, thanking him quietly.
“You aren’t from anywhere near here, are you?” Reader started after a moment, catching his eye. He didn’t look like anyone from this area. Too elegant, too sure, too careful. All at the same time. “No,” he admitted instantly, watching the way the amber liquid caught the light, “I pass through. For business.”
Reader leaned back slightly, arching her brow knowingly, “Legal business?” He smiled with all his teeth, which Reader noticed were rather sharp, “What do you think?” “I think your suit says ‘finance,’ your attitude says ‘hitman,’ and the ears say ‘freak show.’ I haven’t figured out the rest yet.”
He let out a short laugh, low, almost impressed, if that was possible. “That’s quite a profile, Miss Mystery.”
“Would you prefer something kinder?”
“No, I like honesty. I find liars exhausting .”
Something about the way he said it—like he’d had to sort through too many of them—made Reader feel like she was holding a puzzle box. Not something you solved quickly. Something you had to be willing to take your time with to understand. “Do you come here often, or just when you feel like disturbing the peace?” she asked, sipping her new drink.
He smirked, “I find places like this… true and fascinating. People drink what they can afford. They say what they mean, or what they shouldn’t. And no one cares about bunny ears.”
“Or they’re too scared to comment.”
He glanced around. “Fear is honesty too.”
Reader’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re weird.”
He turned to her fully then, legs crossing at the knee daringly, silver eyes gleaming, “So are you . You’re talking to a tall, dark, spooky, man in bunny ears who hasn’t given you a name. You’re laughing at his jokes. You’re staying.” Reader flushed, caught, but refused to look away, “Maybe I’m just waiting to see if those ears are real.”
He leaned in further, “Touch them and find out.”
Reader deadpanned, using her poker face, “You don’t know me that well.”
“Not yet.”
That shouldn’t have made her heartbeat stutter, but it did.
The moment shattered as her phone buzzed.
Reader glanced at it. Work call. She scowled and flipped it over without opening it. “Trouble?” the man asked. Reader shrugged. “Just life being annoying.”
There was silence. Then:
“I can make it go away, if you’d like.”
She blinked. “What?”
He didn’t say anything further, making no attempt to explain, and not even smiling. He just let the offer sit between them. “You know, most people would be freaked out by that,” she said finally.
“If you haven't noticed by now, I’m not most people.”
“And I’m not in the mood to get involved in anything illegal.”
He nodded, as if accepting that was fair. But the offer never really left the table.
Eventually, the night for them was coming to a close, forcing the two to step outside into the true world once again. The night air hit Reader gruffly, and it would have been unwelcome had the man not taken his coat and gently laid it upon Reader’s shoulders. Reader gratefully embraced it, warmth comforting her, inhaling the smell of cologne. He lit a cigarette, though Reader wasn’t sure he smoked more than once a night.
“You gonna tell me your name yet?” she asked, arms crossed as she leaned against the brick wall.
He glanced at her sideways, “Won’t it ruin the mystery?”
“A little. But maybe I’m okay with that.”
He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. “Alright, then. Call me Mafioso.”
“Mafioso?” she repeated. “Is that real?”
He looked amused. “As real as you are.”
A sleek black car rolled slowly to a stop across the street. Tinted windows, no plates.
Mafioso flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with one shoe.
“Is that yours?” she asked.
“Technically. Though I didn’t drive.”
He stepped toward her, close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes, and Reader realised they had a rather obvious height difference.
“This was fun,” he said. “I don’t often get to… do things like this.”
“Like a normal person?”
Something flickered across Mafioso’s face. Then he reached into suit pocket and held something out. A black velvet headband. Bunny ears. Reader stared, blinking slowly.
“Here,” he said, “For when you need to disarm someone.” She took it slowly, savoring the quick graze of their hands, “This better not mean I’m part of the mafia now.” “No,” he replied, turning to go. “But it means I will see you again… Reader .”
He walked away, stepping into the waiting car without another word. The door shut, and the vehicle pulled off into the night.
Reader stood there for a long moment, ears in hand, heart confused, but certain.
Then, with a quiet laugh, she slid them on, thinking of her encounter until they met again.