I have been thinking on this since yesterday it makes me smile....

Ace is an Eggs Benedict kinda guy - he's super super specific though if his hollandaise is broken he's gonna send it back until it's right. I think he'd also tell me what to order because he's such a perfectionist hehe

Johnny wouldn't take me out for breakfast because he'd be too excited to cook for me. He does the whole full breakfast spread and makes the eggs into little hearts...

Ummm John Milton doesn't have to eat but he seems like a steak for breakfast guy. Extra rare. Ykwim.

Rick takes me to a chain diner and orders whatever the equivalent to a grand slam is and eats like at least 3 stacks of pancakes. He's a breakfast guy.

(Forgive me for inaccuracies about 1970s top surgery in Cuba)

The bandages weren’t so bad, really - hell, he kinda liked them. That tightness. It was all just a reminder of what he’d accomplished, what he’d gotten rid of. Anything else, after this, would be easier now. A couple weeks or something, letting himself heal up enough to get back out on the street, he’d be earning the respect he fucking deserved.

Fingers shaking just a little, Tony traced them down the sides of the compression tape, let his thumb hook beneath it just barely. Just enough to feel that sharp pain, and then let go. He didn’t wanna fuck it up.

Man, Manny was gonna freak out. He’d gone and gotten the appointment, checked himself in, all without telling a soul, without making a fuss of it. Just a little procedure.

Still, it made him feel fucking good. Made him feel on top of the world, a million pounds lighter. Nobody would have an excuse to not take him seriously now - pretty soon he’d be out there with all the other bigshot cocksuckers, making moves, getting rich…

He turned to the side a little, admiring that flat plane even beneath the bandaging and the swelling. He felt something almost like joy swell inside him - something soft and wet and sappy - and for just a moment, by himself, he let his expression split into a grin. He could feel tears in the corners of his eyes and he sniffed hard, holding it back. Picturing his future, his climb all the way up to the top… All of it with him looking right, looking the way he’d always imagined.

He pulled his button-down closed over the bandages, scrubbed his eyes, and laughed at himself. Time to make his debut.

Wobbly from the pain meds, he headed towards the door and the street, eager to see the look on Manny’s stupid fucking face.

“Something about Sonny sleeping in his car.”

He knows damn well there’s two seperate beds he could be in right now - two sets of blankets, two sets of arms he could be tucked up between, warm and safe and not watching rain batter down against the windows of his shitty car as he tries to block out the streetlights with the back of his arm.

He could go home to Angie, where he’s supposed to be, with his kids in the other room. Could try to ignore the sound of roaches in the walls and the suffocating feeling of being trapped in poverty with a woman he isn’t sure he still feels the right things for.

He could go back to Leon’s apartment, could apologize in just the right way, could make her laugh, could weasel his way right back in under those sad eyes and those soft hands. He could drown himself in the life he wants to have, in the heavy, unsettling knowledge that this is a mess he made. That he’s the reason she flinches when he raises his voice, that he’s the reason she’s having nightmares.

Truth is, he doesn’t think he deserves to be in either place. Not tonight, not right now, with his plans running through his head and the anxiety beating itself against the inside of his ribcage like a rabid animal trying to break out. He knows how that goes. He’ll pace around and start getting manic, get annoyed when one of his wives tells him to settle down, to relax – as if a man can relax under this kind of pressure! With this much weighing on him!

Sonny let out a low groan, running his hands down his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. The rain is so fucking loud, it almost drowns out his thoughts. He lifts his head, elbowing himself up from where he’s lounging in the back seat, his back twinging. He glances out into the dark - slick asphalt and empty streets, not even a stray dog running around to remind him he isn’t all alone. To remind him he isn’t the last person alive in this godforsaken place.