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Chance doesn’t like labels, not even when he was younger.
Sure there were some labels he was fine with, such as heir and lucky boy (which he had just gotten not that long ago by them), but there were some that he couldn’t stand.
Those were ‘Mister’, ‘Sir’ and many more. He had found a pattern between those labels: they were all gendered terms that he’d been called before by the servants. Mister made his skin crawl, but it shouldn’t, right? Because Chance was a male, a boy–another term that he was conflicted about.
However, despite Chance being born a boy, his body was too….feminine, as the other boys his age called it. He wasn’t as tall as the others (most of the time). Chance also didn’t enjoy those labels thrown around by the casino’s patrons’ children, which was one of the reasons why he doesn’t like talking with them–as much as his parents wished, wondering why their child, known for being cheerful and energetic, suddenly became quiet around the other kids.
Chance tried talking to the others about this, his parents and his servants, but all of them just shrugged, saying that it would ‘wave’ off and that he was ‘too young’ to understand this.
It didn’t ‘wave’ off. It remained there in the back of his mind.
Chance stood at his casino room, a bedroom that he used whenever he stayed at the casino with his parents for a long time. His usual bright smile was now gone, replaced with a frown.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he could point out everything wrong with him: hair too long like a girls, body too skinny for a guy–all thoughts a child like him shouldn’t be having, according to his parents’ employees.
Heck, even hearing someone call Chance a he was now uncomfortable some days, the days when Chance felt most like this–disconnected from those gendered labels and slightly uncomfortable as Chance’s shoulders tensed up, but not enough for the other person to notice.
Perhaps this is just a phase. Chance wasn’t even sure anymore. If it was a phase, why hasn’t he gotten over it?
Chance grabbed a jacket that was laying on the chair and put it, covering up most of his visible skin, good. He was growing tired of looking at his body, and forcing a smile on his face, Chance walked out of the room. It was a Saturday, and Saturday meant spending time with him.
Someone who Chance could actually be Chance around, not worrying or anything.
“Can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Mafioso gruffed out, head turning around at every slot machine the casino had to offer. He wore a worn down trench coat that he probably found in the nearby trash can, covering most of his body like Chance, but possibly for different reasons. His hair was still messy and became longer, covering his eyes and reaching to his shoulders now.
“You meant to say we ,” Chance corrected as he looked back at Mafioso. Two customers, both being middle-age males, hooted at a slot machine with the word ‘JACKPOT’ on the screen. It was crazy how gambling could affect someone, even acting more childish than the two teenagers.
But that was not why they were here. Chance brought–more like sneaking since kids weren’t allowed except for Chance, whose parents owned the place, and kids especially like Mafioso, who was living in the streets were even more not allowed–him here to have some fun! (More like Chance needed something–or someone to keep his mind from all the negativity right now) Mafioso begrudgingly agreed after Chance convinced him that his little group would be alright on their own. He was a smooth-talker like that–people claimed he got it from his mother.
“Why are we doing this in the first place?” Mafioso asked to himself, grumbling under his breath. He had a faint smell of mildew and cigarettes, like always and countering Chance’s own smell, a new cologne he got.
Chance shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted, pushing open the door with black bold colors 'EMPLOYEE ONLY ’ sign on it. What was he supposed to say? Yeah, I’ve been feeling a little down and needed you here with me? That would just be terrible, and Mafioso would’ve left the moment.
They immediately sneaked inside, the door closing softly behind them. This side of the casino was way different than the front, white walls and no flashing lights or slot machines, just the sound of chefs cooking and waiters coming out with more champagne and expensive red wine. They passed a couple of rushing dealers, who were too busy to actually stop and wonder why Chance and his ‘friend’ were doing here.
“Wow,” Mafioso made a popping sound. His head turned side by side, to get a better look at this place.
“Nothing like what’s outside huh?” Chance forced out a chuckle, grabbing the sleeves of his jacket, covering his hand. “Hey, say what if we went to the rooftop? It’s a pretty view and–”
Chance, being the uncareful person he was, suddenly bumped into someone. Mafioso stopped dead in his tracks behind him but didn’t stop quickly enough, accidentally touching Chance’s shoulders.
“ Mister Chance?” A dealer questioned, and from the looks of it, she seemed young and new, the black suit fitting well on her. But it seemed like if your parents were owners of a famous casino, everyone knew who you were. “What are you doing here? And alongside a friend?” She asked, cocking her head, eyes on Mafioso, who only watched in silence, making Chance solve this by himself.
He gripped the cuffs of his jacket when he heard that word again: Mister. Chance never liked labels, especially those. “Um, hey,” he laughed out awkwardly, “nothing to worry about here! Nothing at all!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Mister Chance, sir,” Chance couldn’t help but squirm underneath his jacket, hearing those labels sounded like scratching on a chalkboard. He was starting to get antsy, and Mafioso was having his doubts now, eyes glancing at Chance’s unusual behavior. “You know that your father strictly forbids any of your ‘friends’ to this part of the casino, especially ones like…ones who can bring trouble” She trailed off, glaring at Mafioso, who only scoffed at the insult.
Chance bit the inside of his cheeks. Did he write it down in the staff rulebook or something? In bold letters: RULE #1: Chance is NOT allowed to bring friends over!!!! Just how embarrassing could that be.
“Hey, hey, Fern, right?” His eyes quickly catch her name-tag, surprised to even notice that the staff had those name-tags in the first place. He rubbed his hands together. Despite being young, Chance had a knack at getting out of sticky situations like these. “Look, that was only one time, and also,” he pointed a finger up, pointing at the rooftop, “we’ll just be upstairs. No harm in doing so, right?”
Fern, the staff member, looked conflicted but unfortunately shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mister Chance,” Chance felt his skin crawl everytime she said that. “But rules are rules and–”
“What’s going on?”
Speak of the devil and he should come over, because that was what exactly happened like they were in a movie. Everything just escalated quickly. His father’s heavy footsteps rang throughout the hallway. He looked the same since the last time Chance saw him–which wasn’t too long ago anyway. Hair slicked back with the help of gel, trim beard, and a perfectly tailored black suit–like the one the staff was wearing.
As Chance watched, he noticed his mother was behind his father, their hands hooking together. She also looked the same. A black dress matching his father’s suit, hair tied up in a perfect bun, makeup on her face–she never looked a day past forty.
Mafioso glared at him even harder, ready to throttle Chance after this chaos was over, but Chance only swallowed, trying to pretend everything was fine.
“Mister!” The staff member–Fern if Chance remembered–blurted out, her body straightened. Mom only chuckled softly at that moment, her eyes lingering on the teenagers instead. “I…I.”
Dad cut her off instantly. “There’s things that need your help, I’m afraid,” he spoke with a calming and smooth tone. “As for these two,” he glared at Chance, who jolted slightly, not like this was the first time Chance has gotten in this much trouble. “I’ll take care of them,” he finished, crossing his arms.
The poor employee nodded her head, speed-walking, but Chance caught her saying something under her breath, grumbling. Soon, the door harshly closed, leaving Chance with his parents.
“Hey, mom and dad!” Chance pretended like nothing was wrong, laughing awkwardly. Mafioso had a frown on his face, clearly not happy with this situation as well. “I was just–”
“Chance,” his father sighed, attention full on him now. “How many times have I told you not to come here, you know the trouble you could cause.” He scolded, grey eyes piercing through Chance’s sunglasses.
He lowered his head apologetically, but maybe he should’ve planned for this. Honestly, with how much his parents have been busy in meetings, Chance was sure that this was an easy thing to pull off, but it turned out not. And now he’d dragged Mafioso down in this mess with him.
“Let alone have a friend over,” his father glanced at Mafioso, who was more silent than a mouse, lips pressed together into a thin line. His father sighed, pressing down to his temples. “This place is strictly forbidden, Chance. I can’t have you messing around here anymore. Have you ever noticed how busy I’ve been–”
Chance’s mother pressed on his father’s arm, squeezing it slightly. His mother was always his savor in times like these. She leaned her head on his shoulders.
“Oh dear,” she started, voice like honey, “don’t be too harsh on Chance here.” His father rolled his eyes, used to whatever she was pulling now. “And besides, maybe he was trying to impress someone by bringing them here,” she giggled out, and Chance blinked, his eyes widening behind the sunglasses.
Before Chance could speak and correct things, his father replied back.
“What? Don’t you think he’s too young for that yet?” He furrowed his brows at the implication. “He has better things to do than focusing on that .”
Wait, what did he mean by ‘that’? Clearly there was a misunderstanding. Chance just wanted to spend time with Mafioso, nothing else, right? He pulled on his jacket harder, even popping a button off, rolling down the hallway. Chance glanced over at Mafioso, who made an unreadable face, harder because of his long hair covering his eyes.
“Oh, no,” she laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Our little baby is now a teenager, dear.” Chance couldn’t help but cringe at that nickname, but she continued nevertheless. “He’s now trying to impress girls !”
Wait.
Did he just hear that right?
Girls ?
He glanced back at Mafioso, who just looked as surprised as he was. Heck, even more perplexed, one of the only times Chance saw strong emotions on his face instead of a frown or an unreadable smile.
“Um, I think you have it wrong, mom and dad,” Chance tried his best to correct the situation, letting out an uncomfortable titter. “Maf–”
“Trying to impress a girl? Really?” His dad narrowed his eyes at Mafioso, trying to get a better look at him. Chance stuttered. This had gone downhill really fast, and, besides, once they got to know Mafioso, they would know that he was totally not a girl. How did they even get that idea from anyways?
Actually, Chance could see it. Maybe it was the long hair covering his eyes and brushing his shoulders that did it, or maybe the other’s tall, slim figure. He wasn’t too sure anymore, and thinking of those things just made it unbearable (he sounded a little dramatic, but that was how it was to him!) How there were ways someone could look and get assumed of the wrong gender. How there were ways for you to look in order to be one gender.
He never liked it, really. And it made his stomach twist every time he thought deeper into it. Chance suddenly remembered why he was having such a terrible day then.
He was just being dramatic. That was all.
“Honestly, Chance,” his father’s voice brought him back to reality. He let out a breath, supposed to be a laugh Chance guessed. “Never expected you to follow in your old man’s footsteps and be such a charmer,” he laughed it off, and Chance tried to do the same but just couldn’t, only letting out a weak breath. “But make sure not to fool around,” yet his father warned him, the laughter and silliness now gone as if it never existed before, “you still have a lot of things to learn, such as learning how to run a business, Chance.”
There was his father. A serious businessman yet had a side for jokes, sometimes though.
Chance’s mother, conversely, was a woman in business yet had a light-sense of humor no matter the case. Like now.
She gave a hearty laugh, jabbing her husband in the ribs slightly. “Chance is only oh so young,” she stated, as if Chance and Mafioso weren't there, and it was just her and her husband. “Let him have some fun! Wouldn’t you think so, Chance?” His father let out a grumble as she asked that question, all on Chance once again. The one who made this mess in the first place.
“Yeah,” he agreed quickly, too quickly. “Look, mom,” he clapped his hands together, rubbing them since it felt cold despite wearing a jacket. “Me and Maf have to go now, um, something about a curfew, right?” He felt Mafioso’s eyes on him when he said that nickname, Maf, while lying and trying to save both of their asses right now. Chance had a good poker face and was good at lying, but not good enough for the owners of an actual casino it seemed.
His mother laughed while his father remained silent. “Oh sweetheart,” Chance felt his cheeks warming whenever his mom said those nicknames. In front of Mafioso too, by the way! He’d tease him forever if she continued! “Why don’t you and your girlfriend stay for dinner? We can drop her off if she needs a ride, heh?”
Chance’s gray cheeks were now definitely burning red. “Not my girlfriend, mom,” he protested weakly, earning a little mockery smirk from Mafioso, the same one he always used whenever Chance’s luck ran out for him, and from his own mother, who enjoyed the teasing too much.
Mafioso wasn’t even a girl! And he was definitely not anything like that!
“We have a meeting soon,” dad warned but whispered loud enough for the others to hear. He checked his watch impatiently.
Mom waved a dismissive hand. “That lame meeting could wait,” she said firmly, earning a look from his dad. “And besides,” she continued, “our son is more important than those meetings! Especially if he has a girl to impress.”
Chance wanted to say something, that Mafioso wasn’t a girl nor his girlfriend nor anything like that, that this was just a misunderstanding and the two of them would head out now. But he didn’t, his mouth suddenly taped shut almost, not able to speak and just watched this all go down. How exciting…..
His parents continued bickering in front of them, but after a while, mom was victorious, convincing dad to stop with meetings and have dinner with his son after days without doing so. He immediately ordered some food to be cooked just for them and headed to a nearby private dinning one, one usually reserved for VIPS.
“So,” Mafioso, being the asshole he was, finally spoke, licking his dry lips. “Girlfriend, huh?” Chance wondered if his parents would call Mafioso a ‘girl’ after hearing his voice.
“You seem to enjoy this,” Chance said, clenching his jaw. But deep down, he wondered how Mafioso could be so unbothered , as if he didn’t care that he was being misgendered, being called a girl and put on a label that wasn’t his in the first place. Something that Chance immediately envied about. But he had decided Mafioso was a strange guy since the first meeting, a tough nut to crack as the oldies said.
Mafioso had a satisfied smile on, and Chance wished he could just punch that right off his face. Watching Chance suffer like this without saying a word and even enjoying it! Such a terrible friend, he thought while not actually meaning it.
“Maybe,” was his vague response before shutting his mouth for the rest of the night. Chance sighed in despair, having to deal with his parents’ antics alone again.
Mafioso, despite growing up on the streets, had table manners as Chance observed.
He had a good posture. He only ate the food that was on his plate without asking for seconds. He wiped food off his lips with a napkin. But he didn’t speak, not a single time, still keeping up the facade of a ‘girlfriend’ for Chance’s parents, which was unhelpful in Chance’s point of view. Now he sat there quietly as his mom went on a tangent, folding his hands.
“I never had expected Chance to bring back a girl,” his mother painfully admitted, sipping her first cup of red wine while the children got water instead. “But life is full of mysteries, isn’t it?” She chuckled to herself.
“Yeah, it sure is,” Chance said, not matching her enthusiasm. He, unlike Mafioso, just picked at his food, not feeling very hungry after having to deal with this fiasco still, destroying the insides of his lips instead. He didn’t have his sunglasses, as it was a rule from his mother to have no sunglasses or hats during dinner.
“Now, Chance, be a good host,” his father scolded after finishing chewing on his steak, wiping off his lips with a napkin. “Where did you meet her? She seems so…” his father trailed off.
So what? Such a jerk for letting him deal with this by himself? Chance bit back the snarky reply, knowing his father wouldn’t be pleased with it.
“We met when Spade ran away,” Chance explained, telling the truth since he didn’t find it needing a lie. “He–erm, She helped me look for him.”
Mafioso nodded his head, confirming it. At least that jerk decided to help him with that.
“I always told you that rabbit ought to get in trouble,” dad shot a glance at his mom, who shrugged and slipped her wine.
“That rabbit was good luck,” his mother insisted, but in some ways, Chance agreed, perhaps he was always this lucky. “He brought our son to this lucky girl! Honestly, I’m even more surprised that he managed to even make a friend.”
Mafioso’s head tilted slightly. To him, Chance was the more cheerful one and more outstanding than Mafioso’s quiet personality, so this might have come as a surprise. But Chance had to put a stop to this before it escalated. He didn’t need Mafioso to know all of this! He’d probably use it for blackmail knowing him!
Chance faked a cough. “Mom–”
“He always had trouble fitting in with the other guys,” his mother continued, not hearing Chance’s small protest and speaking like he wasn’t there. He looked over at Mafioso, who had a blank face on, the same blank, indecipherable face. Sometimes, Chance wanted him to actually show something, anything. This was one of those times. “Often getting teased for things. Children these days, I’m afraid.” She let out a dramatica sigh, finishing her expensive red wine in one sip afterwards.
“One day, when Chance was just a little boy,” she continued on with her story despite Chance’s growing embarrassment–those movie scenes about mothers embarrassing her kids in front of their friends were right, and Chance was that kid now. “He came to me with scissors in his hands, asking me to cut his hair, and when I asked why, he merely said ‘it’s because the others said it was too girly!’”
Chance gripped the tablecloth. He thought of his hair after that short story, tied up in a messy ponytail. Was it too long again? Should he cut it again? Just because it was too ‘girly’? Was it because of Mafioso’s long hair that they thought he was Chance’s ‘girlfriend’ (which, by the way, he’s not his girlfriend or boyfriend) Chance found that assumption to be ridiculous also.
Mafioso, on the other hand, didn’t laugh like his mother after finishing that story. Instead, he glanced over at Chance, who was trying to calm his nerves by drinking water. It was hard to tell with his black, disheveled hair covering his eyes, but he almost seemed…. worried .
Worried for Chance.
The other feigned a wink, and Mafioso only softly scoffed at that, not audible for his parents to hear.
“Kids these days,” his father grumbled out, “picking on others for the most ridiculous things ever.” He checked his pocket watch again, for the sixth time this whole time, muttering something under his breath. “It’s time to leave, I’m afraid,” he said, looking at his wife.
His wife gave a pouting look, almost exactly like the one Chance has whenever he tried convincing Mafioso of something, like sneaking inside the casino and accidentally meeting his parents. “Ugh,” she said before turning to the two teenagers, giving a little smile. “I suppose it is time….now kids, you better not do anything stupid like–”
“Mom!” Chance exclaimed, the loudest he’d been this whole time. But something inside of him still grew uncomfortably, it’d been there since this whole day now. Something that he wanted to get rid of, but couldn’t. It was here when he had looked into the mirror, at himself, and came back, bubbling inside him. Picking at every part of his appearance: too masculine, too feminine, never just right .
His mother gave a light-hearted chuckle, and even his father smirked a little. Then they left for their meeting, and so did Chance and Mafioso, leaving the suffocating dining room for what they originally were here for: the rooftop. And Chance hoped this feeling would go away.
“How did you even deal with them?” Chance questioned, maybe to himself and maybe to Mafioso. He sat down on the rooftop, leaning on the bricked wall, clinching on his jacket. It wasn’t even cold.
Mafioso shrugged, a gentle breeze coming their way. “They’re your parents,” he simply stated.
Chance couldn’t argue with that, so he merely said nothing, looking at the view.
The rooftop, like he had said, was an amazing view. Bright signs flickering in the distance, all advertising a business or something else; however, if you looked up at the night sky, you were able to see stars despite the bright nights, only if you squinted very hard though. You could see almost the whole city on the rooftop–even the dark parts which were the streets of poverty, where some couldn’t afford electricity.
“You were right,” Mafioso said, strangely being the one breaking the silence, usually that went to Chance, but not this time. “It is amazing up here.”
Chance forced a smirk on his face. “Told you it’s worth it,” he replied back, somewhat lacking in his usual cheerfulness, but a poker face remained, like always.
Mafioso must’ve caught up on what was happening as he didn’t say anything, really. Keeping that stoic personality of his, and instead reached into his large, trashed trench coat. He pulled out two Bloxycolas as Chance watched.
“Wha–where did you even get those?” Chance furrowed his brows. He’d been with Mafioso the whole night, and he never saw him stealing two Bloxycoals from the staff members, or from the vending machine that the casino randomly had–Chance had asked his parents about that vending machine, but they shrugged, they themselves not knowing where it originated from.
“Pickpocketing is becoming easier these days,” was the other’s vague reply, handing one Bloxycola to him.
“Oh,” Chance grabbed the Bloxycola, their hands accidentally meeting each other–Mafioso’s rough and calloused hands while his was soft and manicured. “So you stole them?” he said, lifting up the tab and making a crisp crack sound followed by the smell of soda bubbles.
Mafioso did the same. “I prefer to call it ‘pickpocketing’, actually,” he corrected, taking the first sip. Chance wondered who the poor soul was, getting ‘pickpocketed’ by the Mafioso himself, yet couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle. That lightened his mood up a little bit.
Chance sighed as he took his first sip. He never liked Bloxycolas, but this would do, he guessed. But there was another question on his mind.
“Hey, Maf.” No, Chance didn’t intentionally call Mafioso ‘Maf’. It was a slip of the tongue, and he usually used it to make fun of the other, but Chance was just so used to it, huh?
“Hm?”
“Why did you do this?”
Mafioso turned to look at Chance, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Y’know,” Chance said between slips, suddenly becoming colder as the night was in its prime. “Putting up with me, you could’ve just disappeared, but instead you’re still here, with me.”
Mafioso took a while to reply, not even drinking his Bloxycola; Chance saw the hand shake slightly, crushing it just a little.
“I don’t know,” Mafioso admitted, finally taking a sip. “I don’t know,” he repeated again, a breeze brushing his long black hair.
“Really?” Chance muttered out, titling his head slightly. “Wait, let me guess why then–it’s because you enjoyed being called my girlfriend, isn’t it? Well, I’m very flattered but–”
“No one would want to be dating you, Chance, no one,” Mafioso snapped back, but Chance could tell that he was half-joking–peaks of being ‘friends’ with someone like Mafioso. “And also,” he said, crushing the can of Bloxycola once he was finished, “bold words spoken by someone looked uncomfortable during that whole time.”
Chance felt goosebumps on his arms, so he wrapped the jacket tighter around his body, hands shaking as he drank the final sips. “Yeah,” he said afterwards, rubbing the back of his neck, goosebumps there too. “I’m sorry about that.”
“For what?”
Sometimes he wondered how Mafioso, a guy probably with more experience than Chance despite being the same age, could sometimes be so…clueless almost, but Chance wasn’t sure if he was faking it or what anymore.
“For what happened during dinner,” Chance expanded immediately, “for that little misunderstanding .”
What he meant was Mafioso getting called a girl by his parents. He was sorry for that.
However, to his surprise, Mafioso only shrugged ever so casually.
“I didn’t mind that,” he commented, completely unbothered.
Chance blinked, completely befuddled behind the sunglasses of his (yes, he wears them at night. He always has). “W-what you mean by that?”
“Chance, if you think being misgendered is a major issue for me,” Mafioso explained, leaning on the wall and watching the neon lights flicker, “then you’re wrong. I don’t mind it. I have other things to worry about than something that simple, and it’s not even close to the worst thing I’ve ever been called.” But maybe he does need a haircut. His hair was, indeed, getting a little too long even for his taste.
That simple? Was it really that simple for Mafioso? Then why couldn’t Chance believe it was just ‘that simple’. He thinned his lips together, unsure what to say.
“I just don’t get it,” Chance blurted out loud, not even realizing he did that until Mafioso turned slightly to his direction, eyes on him.
“Get what?”
“Just everything about tha–” Chance paused mid-sentence and sighed, trying to curl up into a ball, burying his face in his arms. He didn’t know how to put it into words, the same damn thing that has been bothering him ever since. He tried distracting himself from it, with Mafioso and accidentally (mostly) with dinner.
Chance’s just confused. This whole thing was conflicting, unlike it being ‘that simple’.
“Chance,” Mafioso called out, and glancing over, Chance could see that he was sitting next to Chance, sitting on the ground and leaning on the wall like Chance was and looking at Chance. His expression was still stoic, however, lips thinning. “You can’t be quiet now Talk to me.”
Chance scoffed, “It’s nothing, just let it go.”
“If it was nothing,” Mafioso countered, “then you wouldn’t be like this. C’mon, talk–or if you’re not ready, I can just–”
“Don’t,” Chance blurted out quickly, and Mafioso shut his lips, eyes piercing through Chance’s falling poker face, facade. Chance immediately noticed what he had just done and sighed, running his hand in his long hair, messing it up.
He was going to explain to Mafioso no matter what, huh?
“I just–it’s weird,” Chance admitted. “How everyone believes you to be a girl only because of your long hair, like there’s a certain way you have to look almost.”
Mafioso narrowed his eyes behind the long hair. Chance was sure he was judging him right now–judging him on this matter. Everything now.
“I mean, if you have long hair, then you’re considered a ‘girl’,” Chance explained more, remembering that embarrassing story his mother shared during dinner–how he’d asked her to cut his hair because it was too ‘girly’. He continued on talking about gendered terms, how they could just be thrown around so easily without asking the other.
“It’s just tiring,” Chance said after finishing his rant. “And I’m tired of it, Mafioso. I’m tired of everyone acting like this is just a ‘phase’. I’m tired of being like this and feeling like this.” His voice began to shake, getting emotional.
He doesn’t like other people seeing him like this, seeing the ‘cheerful’ and ‘careful’ Chance like this, but if there was anyone–other than his parents–who saw him like this, he would be glad that it was Mafioso rather than some random staff member.
Speaking of Mafioso, he still remained silent, waiting patiently until Chance finished up. The silence was oppressing, and Chance felt embarrassed–embarrassed that he was like this, someone who couldn’t understand any of this. Someone who couldn’t simply fit in with those gender expectations and someone who was tired of all of this.
Since he took Mafioso’s silence as him getting second-hand embarrassment from Chance, he tried to backpedal.
“This is stupid,” Chance mumbled, nothing like his usual bright self but rather someone who was conflicted. “Sorry about that. Just pretend it never happened anyway.”
What was Mafioso doing to know? Tell him that he was disgusted by this? Or what he was just in a phase. That he was just too over-dramatic and sensitive for this. That he would ‘grow out of this phase’ like the rest of them? The staff, his parents, everyone else? Chance bit on his lips, almost enough to draw blood.
“Do you want my honest opinion?” Mafioso asked all of a sudden, finally breaking his peace and silence.
“Huh?” Chance lifted his head to look at Mafios, who like the same, unbothered, unlike Chance right now. “What’d you mean by that?”
“Honest opinion or not?” Mafioso repeated again, simply.
Chance took a few seconds to think of an answer. “Honest,” he muttered out, forcing the please back in his throat–this was already too much.
“Perhaps you don’t need to figure things out,” Mafioso commented, crossing his legs and scooting closer to Chance–the closest the two have ever been.
“Wha–what’d you mean by that?” Chance blinked, unsure what he meant. Not needing to figure out things yet.
Mafioso shrugged, still acting the same besides the conversation they were having. “You’re your own person, Chance. Give yourself some space, try something that feels good, not those stupid labels and definitely not what they say you are– ‘girly’ or ‘manly.’”
Chance looked down at his hands, nails cleaned and trimmed, softly laughing half-heartedly. “Then why does it hurt so much, Mafioso?” He whispered, “Everytime ‘Mister’, ‘sir’, heck, even he hurts sometimes? And then she also hurts. Everyone got it together, knows what they’re supposed to be in the world, and I’m just…stuck.”
Mafioso was quiet again, not because he didn’t care, but because he was thinking again.
“Maybe you’re not stuck,” he insisted, “maybe you’re just in-between or neither. It doesn’t mean that you’re wrong.”
Chance blinked, his eyes getting watery, but he was not going to cry in front of Mafioso. He was vulnerable enough. “Hell,” he chuckled dryly out, “you’re not so bad at this after all.”
Mafioso titled his head. “What did you expect me to do?”
He shrugged. “I dunno, tell me to fuck off and stop bothering you?”
Mafioso tried to hide a laugh. “I’m afraid I've lost the ability to say that to you ever since we first met.”
That brightened the mood slightly. Chance let out a breath, almost like a laugh but not enough to be one. There was still the major elephant in the room. His small smile that he managed to get on his face was now gone, lips shaking slightly.
The two stared at each other for a long time. Nothing. No words. Just eye to eye.
“Then what if I don’t feel like a boy or a girl, like I’m none of those?” Chance asked softly, his voice a whisper.
“Then don’t be,” Mafioso whispered back. “Be Chance.”
“It’s not everyday someone can be me,” Chance added jokingly, but his voice was still shaking slightly. “Be Chance,” he repeated, “I think I like that.”
“Of course you do,” Mafioso said and continued on before Chance could ask what that meant. “How about this–would you prefer using they for a while? To get a taste of it?”
To get a taste of what? “What does that mean?” Chance asked, another breeze coming their way, like it was on their side no matter what.
“Stop using he,” Mafioso said, like it was the easiest thing ever. “Maybe find the pronouns–or ‘labels’ –that are better for you.”
Chance nodded along. He enjoyed using ‘he’ sometimes, like it was natural, but sometimes, Chance felt different. Like ‘he’ wasn’t a he, that label didn’t feel right. Like Chance was someone else, someone different than a ‘he’ or even a ‘she’.
“Yeah….I think that feels better.” They confirmed, the small smile back on their face.
Mafioso laughed, the first laugh since this fiasco of a day. “I’m glad it does.”
He. Him. His. They. Them. Theirs. They. Them. Theirs.
Chance tried getting a taste of those words–those pronouns and those labels. For the first time, they felt comfortable in a label, a label that they could be under, hopefully.
“It’s not that bad,” they exhaled. For the first time, Chance felt relieved, and those nasty feelings that were once bubbling in his body were now gone, mostly, but they knew that they would come back soon. That Chance would have to deal with them nonetheless. But that time, they’d have a better understanding. “Heck, how did you even know about this?”
“You’ll be surprised how much you can learn living with those four,” Mafioso chuckled–not mocking but just tired, leaving Chance to wonder what had happened before they met him. “And besides,” Mafioso added, “if anyone else gives you more crap, I can always punch them for you.”
Chance wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, or both.
Chance exhaled, tired like Mafioso. “You’re terrible,” they laughed. They weren’t sure how to talk about this with their parents, but with Mafioso on their side? Maybe they could figure it out, taking their own, sweet time, of course.
“And yet,” Mafioso pulled out two more Bloxycolas inside his cloak, tossing one to Chance, who just had one more question on their mind: how many people did he ‘pickpocket’ on their way to the casino? He cracked open his Bloxycola. “You dragged me here.”
The two sat in silence for a while longer, sipping soda, watching the city breathe below them. The cold didn’t matter anymore. The awkwardness faded. For the first time in a long time, Chance didn’t feel like they had to force a smile or fake confidence.
Up here, on the rooftop, with Mafioso sitting beside them—not labeling them, not asking them, to explain themself—Chance felt more like themself than they ever had at a family dinner or in front of a mirror.
Maybe that was enough. For now at least.