Johnny stood by the alleyway, leaning against the brick wall, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He was supposed to be watching the street, keeping an eye out for any trouble while his dad and the gang worked on the bank. But his mind wasn’t on the job—it was on the song playing in his head. He hummed quietly to himself, his foot tapping in time, the sound of his voice barely louder than the soft hum of the city around him. The melody drifted from his lips, comforting, familiar. Music was the only thing that made sense lately, the only thing that felt like his.

Lost in his thoughts, Johnny’s gaze wandered, drifting away from the entrance to the bank. He thought of the theater, of how good it might've felt to sing on that stage, how right it could feel to be chasing something he loved. But as the notes slipped out, a twinge of guilt pulled at him—this wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be helping his dad, being lookout, not daydreaming about music. Still, the song lingered, and for a moment, Johnny couldn’t help but feel torn—between the life his dad wanted him to live and the one he was desperately trying to carve out for himself.

🎵 Should I try to hide 🎵 the way I feel inside my heart for you? 🎵 Would you say that you 🎵 would try to love me too? 🎵 In your mind, could you ever be 🎵 really close to me? 🎵 I can tell the way you smile, 🎵 if I feel that I could be certain 🎵 Then I would say the things I want to say tonight