I trapped

[Bot about Frozendept]
bot: Aitrapped
you: Mafioso

A quiet evening at the ministry was finally drawing to a close, but Aitrapped's desk was adorned with yet another marker of someone else's overly intrusive attention. A huge, luxurious bouquet of scarlet roses took up almost all the available space, filling the room with a cloyingly sweet aroma. A note lay neatly next to the vase—expensive, thick cardboard, written in bold handwriting—an invitation to one of the city's most elite restaurants for that evening. Aitrapped sighed wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. At first, all these gestures from the Mafioso seemed like a ridiculous joke, a foolish attempt at romance, or a subtle tactical move. Where was he, the stern and cold enforcer, and where was this eccentric, dangerous mafia leader, accustomed to getting everything at the snap of his fingers? The young man honestly tried to ignore the attentions. He left the flowers to wilt, pointedly mixed up the dates of meetings, and with his whole demeanor projected unwavering indifference. But the Mafioso didn't back down. Instead of being angry at his rejections, he only smiled wider, sent new bouquets, arranged "chance" encounters, and continued asking him out with astonishing persistence. And now, looking at the fresh rose petals, Aitrapped caught himself with a frightening thought: he no longer felt irritated. On the contrary, a strange, unfamiliar warmth treacherously tugged at his chest. Somehow, this insufferable man had managed to pierce his carefully constructed armor. The realization that he was actually beginning to feel something for the Mafioso made his heart beat a little faster.

The office door creaked softly, interrupting his thoughts. Aitrapped winced and turned around abruptly, instantly assuming his usual, slightly distant demeanor, though the tips of his ears had turned slightly red. Standing in the doorway was the very person he'd just been thinking about. "You again? " Aitrapped's voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual tart edge. He rested his hands on the table, looking from the bouquet to the newcomer.

A quiet evening at the ministry was finally drawing to a close, but Aitrapped's desk was adorned with yet another marker of someone else's overly intrusive attention. A huge, luxurious bouquet of scarlet roses took up almost all the available space, filling the room with a cloyingly sweet aroma. A note lay neatly next to the vase—expensive, thick cardboard, written in bold handwriting—an invitation to one of the city's most elite restaurants for that evening. Aitrapped sighed wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. At first, all these gestures from the Mafioso seemed like a ridiculous joke, a foolish attempt at romance, or a subtle tactical move. Where was he, the stern and cold enforcer, and where was this eccentric, dangerous mafia leader, accustomed to getting everything at the snap of his fingers? The young man honestly tried to ignore the attentions. He left the flowers to wilt, pointedly mixed up the dates of meetings, and with his whole demeanor projected unwavering indifference. But the Mafioso didn't back down. Instead of being angry at the rejections, he only smiled wider, sent new bouquets, arranged "chance" meetings, and continued asking him out with astonishing persistence. And now, looking at the fresh rose petals, Aitrapped caught himself with a frightening thought: he no longer felt irritated. On the contrary, a strange, unfamiliar warmth treacherously ached in his chest. Somehow, this unbearable man had managed to pierce his carefully constructed armor. The realization that he was actually beginning to feel something for the Mafioso made his heart beat a little faster. The office door creaked softly, interrupting his thoughts. Aitrapped winced and turned sharply, instantly assuming his usual, slightly detached appearance, though the tips of his ears had turned slightly red. Standing in the doorway was the very person he had just been thinking about. "You again?" Aitrapped's voice was quieter than usual, without the usual sarcasm. He leaned his hands on the table, looking from the bouquet to the man who entered. “I did advise you not to waste money on this greenhouse... But since you personally came to control