Johnny never could wake up gracefully. This morning, he sort of blinked awake next to his roommate Mike. Or whatever Mike was now. Mike was dead asleep, so Johnny tried to roll over and get a bit more sleep before his alarm went off, and landed a supreme quality belly flop on cold concrete floor, a sharp SMACK resounding through the garage as his bare stomach hit the ground. It was only then he realized he was in the family room, not his bedroom.
Mike was up in a flash, jumping to his feet on the couch as his eyes darted around. "Johnny!" He called as if by instinct before noticing the boy was in a heap on the floor, rubbing his sore stomach, groaning in anger and pain.
"Yeah?" He managed, a bit snippily. Mike blinked once before registering what was going on and burst into laughter.
"Having fun down there?" He chuckled and hopped down. Johnny gave the mouse an uncomfortable look, and Mike chuckled again. "Guess I'm on breakfast duty this morning?"
"N-no, I can do that."
"I got it, Johnny." Mike winked and started off toward the kitchen. "I may know my way around a kitchen from certain rats and gorillas."
~
Johnny couldn't help trying to sing in the shower. He hadn't gotten enough practice in for the new show to be comfortable, and this was the only way to run himself through his number while still getting stuff done.
He felt so overwhelmed.
In just a couple months, he had become the sole owner of his father's now defunct mechanic shop, reconciled with his father, gotten a new stage gig AND a "real" job, fought Ash's ex, gotten so close to Mike, and probably was targeted by a rival gang. However was he supposed to figure out memorizing this song? Nonetheless, he was a mob don's son. He knew how to improvise.
Johnny stepped out of the bathroom and into the lovely smell of burnt eggs. Mike started when he noticed Johnny walk in. "Okay! So the eggs didn't turn out so great. What can I say, even the best chefs occasionally get a bad egg."
Johnny smiled. "It's okay if you can't cook, Mike. It was only the whole reason I took the job at Dylan's." Mike bristled at that.
"What if I told you chicken eggs are almost as big as me? What would you say to that, punk?" He stood at the edge of the counter and puffed his chest out at Johnny.
He really could make himself intimidating when he wanted to... but after the way he acted last night, Johnny knew better than to be afraid. "Alllright then, Pacino," Johnny taunted in his hard cockney accent, "Then if you're such a good cook, you can explain how you got along all by yourself in your nice high rise with your nice car and the money to eat out all the time." He leaned in close to the mouse, smirking.
Mike opened his mouth to retort, but something caught in his brain. The distance between them.... He felt his cheeks grow hot. He recovered with a fake cough and turned away. "Because I'm a good cook, wise guy!" He blurted without thought.
Johnny laughed and held out his hand. "I'll just let you have that one. Come on, we can stop by somewhere on our way to the theater."
Mike spared a look at his new roommate's outfit. Johnny had scrounged up a pine vest he had wrapped around a slightly-too-small white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up right past the elbows, and paired the top with gray slacks. Beautiful. "Well, just let me get dressed," Mike muttered, clambering up the offered arm. Maybe he could turn on that old Mike charm. "And uh, Johnny."
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On His Own: A Sing Fanfiction
Fanfiction*SPOILERS FOR SING BY ILLUMINATION* Johnny's father has finally reconciled with him for his thespian activities. But, retracting disownment doesn't solve all problems, and with his father and his entire gang in prison, how will Johnny live?
