(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.