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“My palms are still raw,” Lucas mutters from the end of the island, his quiet voice barely audible over the pop music pulsing from the built-in ceiling speakers. He adjusts his hearing aids with the back of a flour-dusted wrist. “You’re going to kill us all before the pizza and cookies even go in the oven.”
“I am trying to stop you two from killing yourselves,” Tyler says.
Before I can inform him that he is being dramatic—a sentence I have said at least six times in the last hour—someone appears in the kitchen.
Tyler’s nineteen-year-old brother, Luiz, stands in the doorway. He’s rocking slightly on the balls of his bare feet, his fingers flicking in a rapid, rhythmic flutter at his sides. His eyes don’t settle on any of our faces; instead, they dart between the chrome legs of the barstools, blinking in hard, quick bursts.
“Loud…” Luiz says, his voice flat, monotonous, and strained around the edges. His fingers snap against his thumbs, a fast, self-soothing stim. “Too loud, Tyler. Music… hums in teeth. Luiz need… need headset.”
The sharpness leaves Tyler’s expression immediately.
He lowers the spatula.
“Lu, where’s your headset?” he asks gently, the teasing edge gone from his voice. “You didn’t bring it with you?”
Luiz shakes his head once.
“Forgot it.” He pauses, rubbing the heel of his palm against his thumb. “At apartment. On… on couch.”
“You left it on the couch?”
Luiz nods again.
“I think I have one here,” I say.
His face lifts slightly, though his gaze remains somewhere around the cabinet handles.
“The black noise-canceling one,” I add. “I left it in the guest room after the other night.”
Luiz’s fingers still.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He looks at me then—not quite eye contact, more my shoulder than my face.
“Can I use?”
“Of course,” I tell him. “Come with me, I’ll grab them for you.”
Luiz turns and pads down the short hallway toward the guest room, his steps light and careful. I follow a pace behind, giving him his space. Inside the bedroom, I retrieve the matte-black Bose headphones from the nightstand and turn back to him in the doorway.
I hold them out, and Luiz reaches out with extreme care, pinching the plastic headband between his thumb and forefinger, deliberately avoiding any skin-to-skin contact. He inspects the ear cushions, letting out a small, shaky sigh of relief.
“Thank you… Mob Prince,” he says slowly, his words carefully articulated, the syllable pacing deliberate.
A fond grin pulls at my mouth. “You’re very welcome, buddy.”
I lean against the doorframe, keeping my posture relaxed so he doesn’t feel crowded.
“Do you need anything else, Lu? Water? Blanket?”
Luiz pauses, repeating the words under his breath in a soft, echolalic rhythm. “Need anything else… anything else…” He blinks, his gaze drifting down to the navy fabric of his oversized sweatshirt. “Viktor.”
My eyebrows tick up slightly. “What about Viktor?”
Luiz’s fingers resume a slow, calm flutter against his thigh. “When… when is Viktor coming here? Today?”
