Painted Crowns (on hold)

(2) Scars

"So should we just like, let her sleep?" Luca asks from the kitchen. Pots clang, plates clash, silverware chimes.

"Probably," a voice I barely recognize responds. This one is deeper, more masculine than I ever expected. "Vinny texted us last night. They didn't get here until almost one."

"But I want to say hi! I haven't seen her since high school."

"We can talk to her when she wakes up. Honestly, I want an explanation of why she just waltzed in here. Don't we lock our doors? Isn't that a thing?"

I decide this is the time to announce my entrance to this conversation. I reach underneath me, fishing out the key that got stuffed between the couch cushions, and raise them triumphantly in the air. "The best lock-pick in town."

I open my eyes for the first time all morning, turning to see Luca in the kitchen. He stands beyond the counter, and at this angle, I can only see the wet mess of dark hair bouncing around. I push myself up and drag my legs over the edge of the couch as Luca's shape suddenly rushes towards me.

"Oh my god you're awake!" Luca shouts excitedly and wraps me in his bare arms. His skin is clammy and cold, and his hair drips onto my neck. He lifts me from the couch and throws me around the room in pure joy. "And you're home!"

"I already know these things," I explain as I'm jostled about the living room. We narrowly avoid the low coffee table and the television set, and my head smacks into his shoulder as he flings me around. "Luca Vicetti, if you do not let go-"

"I'm so happy to see you," he chuckles and brings us to a stop on the carpet. He holds me by my shoulders, examining me with wild eyes. "Don, look at her! She's all adult now!"

"I honestly don't remember her looking much different," Don says from the kitchen. He takes over the sizzling sausages on the stovetop as Luca drags me into the kitchen by my hand. He doesn't stand much taller than Luca, but the heat from the pan fogs up his thick-brimmed glasses. "That haircut and resting-bitch-face is iconic."

"Good to see you too, Donny-Doll." Sarcasm drips through my words as Luca lets go of me. I hop up and sit on the counter, watching my two favorite hometown gays mull about the kitchen of their own. "You guys actually did it, huh?"

"Did what?" Luca asks as he pulls open the fridge. Papers slip from the magnets, fluttering to the floor like leaves.

I gesture to the apartment as a whole, "This."

"Don deserves the credit," Luca explains and pulls the orange juice from the rather empty top shelf. "He got this place on his own. I just mooch off of him."

"That's shit," Don laughs and moves the freshly cooked sausages to a plate to his left. "You pay rent too."

"But like, you guys talked about this for years as a joke," I explain with wild gestures. "You actually did it."

"Situations changed, and this turned out to be a good deal." Don says and clicks off the stovetop. Luca squeezes by him, standing on his toes and retrieving glasses from the cabinet. "It's not the greatest, but we're working on it."

Luca sets the glasses on the folding table beside me, and orange juice splashes up the sides violently. It spits over the rim, streaking down the outside and pooling on the ratty black top. Don swoops in behind him with the plate of sausages, raising the plate over his head and tossing it in the center.

"Now, Levy Dram, sit your ass down at our table and have your first meal back home." Luca gestures to one of the folding chairs.

I raise my hands in defeat, slide off the counter, and join Don and Luca. The back of my chair presses into the wall, pinning me between the table and the peeling wallpaper. Mostly empty picture frames hang above my head, but there are a few photographs of Don on Fyshe Pier, Luca getting his ears pierced in an empty parking lot, and those cliché cute couple photos that litter tumblr. However, those stock photos I saw last night weren't hallucinations. Faces of robotic models eternally trapped in fake smiles randomly populate the frames, disrupting the nostalgia around them. They're out of place. However, before I can ask about them, Luca drops a sausage and piece of toast on my plate.