Reformation

Chapter Four- Daddy Issues

Mike

"Rise and shine!"

Mike groaned, throwing up one hand to cover his face. "Five more minutes..."

"Come on, princess, get up!"

Mike let out a yelp as the covers were ripped away, cool air hitting his bare chest. "Sully you [strawberry] let me sleep!"

He heard echoing laughter. "I have something planned for today, but only if you drag your lazy [strawberry] out of bed."

Mike rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What? Another death defying escapade? I don't think that's a smart idea..."

"Of course it's smart, I'm a genius, so get up and get dressed."

Mike grumbled but rolled out of bed, stumbling into an outfit and running a hand through his hair. He glared at himself in the mirror, all murky green eyes and bright green hair and gaunt features.

Sully had given him a twin sized bed in the only small bedroom in the apartment. Which was Sully's bedroom. Mike was just relieved he didn't snore.

Mike shuffled out of the bedroom in torn blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a faded maroon cardigan. He froze when he saw Sully. In exactly the same outfit.

"You copied me." Sully accused, looking him up and down.

Mike scowled. "What are you doing in my outfit?"

Sully wagged his finger at him. "Uh-uh, I got dressed first."

"I look better in it."

"I look hotter."

"You wanna do this? We'll match all day."

"Take off the [strawberry] clothing, Mike."

"I'm not stripping if that's what you want."

"I'll do it for you."

Mike threw up his hands. "Fine! You win!" He stomped back into the bedroom, muttering under his breath.

"Love you!"

"Whatever!"

After a quick breakfast, in which Mike wore a white t-shirt, Sully hustled them into a cab.

"You can't skate to where we are going." Sully told him.

Mike looked at him. "What, are we going out of state? I think I would go mad on a road trip with you."

Sully laid on a thick Russian accent. "Vere wee are goeeng ees for you to discoveer."

Mike laughed. "Great, I love surprises."

"Is that sarcasm?" Sully shifted, getting uncomfortable in the leather seats that smelled of smoke and city.

"I learned that skill a long time ago, it helps when you want to murder somebody but a thrown punch would mean another annoying shift to another unbearable foster home." Mike said bitterly, looking out the window at the passing urban landscape.

He could feel Sully's eyes on him. "How many foster homes have you been in?" Sully asked quietly.

Mike shrugged. "27. I never have the patience or endurance to stay more than a year."

"But most of them treat you well?"

He shrugged again. "They try. What ticks me off the most is when they pretend to care. They can tell everyone they want that they took in a brooding teen if it makes them feel better but they don't know my [strawberry] and I'm not about to spill it to a bunch of cheap adults."