So much for the golden future I can't even start
I've had every promise broken, there's anger in my heart
You don't know what it's like, you don't have a clue
If you did you'd find yourselves doing the same thing too

- Judas Priest

The hottest love has the coldest end

- Socrates

Lincoln Loud sat by his bedroom window, the lights off, and stared up at the full, gibbous moon, its white, skeletal face wrapped in thin clouds like rotted cemetery shrouds. The night sky glowed faintly with its light, and he could see as though it were daylight: A possum slunk along the base of the wooden fence separating his yard from the neighbor's, stopping to sniff the air, its furry rump wiggling in what may have been excitement...or fear. Lincoln couldn't tell, nor did he care.

It was almost midnight on June 5, a day he had been looking forward to for over a month, the anticipation rising within him as it approached like steam might rise in a boiler. He was nervous, restless...and excited. Three years. It had been three years since his parents broke him and Luan up, and finally, tonight, they would be together again.

He'd waited so long, passing so many heartbroken nights in this very room. He couldn't count the times he'd cried himself to sleep, or the times his rage kept him awake deep into the small hours of the morning, his teeth clenched and his chest throbbing with fury. There was a time when his room was his sanctuary, his oasis. Over the past three years, however, it had become a cell and he the prisoner. He would pace back and forth, his anger rising with each pass until he was shaking and couldn't control himself: He smashed his video game console six months ago and shoved the shattered remains under his bed along with all the other things he'd broken. A small part of him missed it, a larger part didn't. There were holes in the walls, some of them covered with posters and others with drywall patch, white spots on a yellow background, his dresser was dented from where he'd punched it repeatedly, breaking his hand at one point.

Lincoln passed much of his time in this dismal space, free to leave and mingle with the others but not wanting to: Seeing them happy and enjoying their lives pissed him off and made him hate them, and he didn't want to hate his sisters. It wasn't their fault. Truth be told, he missed them; it had been so long since he was able to enjoy being with them. He tried to, even as recently as this weekend, and while they always accepted him with open arms, every time he made the attempt, he came away angry. And God forbid he should see or deal with his mother or father. He didn't hate his sisters, but he did hate his parents, he hated them with every fiber of his being. Not his father as much as his mother, though neither was blameless.

It was this deep abiding hatred – almost as much as his longing for his sister – that inspired him to text Luan that night in late April, the first time he had done so since their parents broke them up, and the first time he had interacted with her at all in three months. We should run away.

We can't do that. What will we do?

I don't know and I don't care. As long as I have you.

She said no, but she started to think. The last three years had been just as hard on her as it had on him. She ached for him, pined for him, missing him so badly that she sometimes cut herself to dull the pain, because pain of the flesh is bliss compared to pain of the spirit. She, too, came to hate their parents, and her siblings' joy was her sorrow. She dreamed of him every night, and when she woke to find that their cuddling or their lovemaking had been but a fantasy, she would either break down and cry or get so angry she would have to bite her lip against a scream. Sometimes her mother would point out a boy on the street or in the neighborhood and make a comment about him being cute, the implication being that she, Luan, should date him, but Luan didn't want to date him, and whenever her mother would brush the topic, Luan's teeth would clench and her fists would ball. She did it on purpose, Luan figured; taunting her, mocking her. Go after him, honey, because you can't have Lincoln.

When Lynn came out as gay, mom hugged her. Oh, sweetie, that doesn't matter blah blah blah love and support blah blah blah love is blind. She actually had the gall to fucking say that. Love is blind. Luan laughed harshly, and mom glared at her. Luan shut her mouth, but had to leave the room because it was that funny. Only it really wasn't. It was sad, and it depressed Luan so much that she had to cut just to make it through the night. Love is blind, huh, mom? That's not what you said when you found out about me and Lincoln.

It was remembering that comment, love is blind, that decided her – almost as much as wanting to be with Lincoln. She texted him two days after he texted her. I've changed my mind. I love you and I want to be with you any way I can. Let's go.

She'd been working at a pizzeria for almost two years (anything to get her out of that fucking house for a while each afternoon), and she had some money saved up. Starting in May, she saved every single penny, cashing her checks and sticking the results into a jar under her bed. By June, she had five hundred dollars. It wasn't much, but it was something.

We can take the money in the safe, Lincoln texted one night.

Their parents kept money and other valuables in a safe in their bedroom closet. One day, Lincoln told her, he figured out the combination.

Luan grinned at the idea. We can take the van, too. She'd just gotten her license in April.

LOL. I love you.

The thought of her parents waking to find them gone – along with the money and the van – sustained Luan through the long weeks between the decision and the night of action. Well, that and the thought of finally, after so long, being in Lincoln's arms again.

Presently, she was lying in her bed and staring up at a beam of moonlight creeping across the ceiling. In the bed across the room, Luna snored lightly. It was after midnight, and the Loud house had been silent for nearly two hours: It was a school night, and everyone was in bed by eleven. She knew her parents well enough to know that they were fast asleep, and would not wake when Lincoln slipped into the room...unless he fucked up and made too much noise, which she didn't think he would.

She checked her phone. No texts from Lincoln. He'd probably want to wait a little longer, but Luan didn't know if she could wait. She'd been damp all day thinking of the sex they would have. It had been so long that in her mind their sex had taken on a mythical quality; she could barely remember what it felt like, and that made her angry.

Her plan was to jump him in the van as soon as they were far enough away from town to stop for a while, but why not do it now? If their parents woke up, well...what could they do? Ground them?

With a tight chest, she got up and crept into the hall, pausing to listen and hearing only nocturnal silence.

She went to Lincoln's door and eased it open. He was sitting at his window, his face bathed in the light of the moon. He spun when he heard her, and smiled. In the past three years, he had grown into a man, his features hardening and his legs lengthening. He was taller than she was now.

"Hey, Linc," she said seductively, closing the door behind her. Her heart was pounding.

"Hey, yourself," he said, getting up and coming to her.

"I figured we could wait together," she said.

"I could use some company," he said, snaking his arms around her hips. He stared into her eyes, and her heart sputtered. She could feel his bulge against the crotch of her thin nightgown. She wore nothing beneath. Her face flushed. Being in his arms felt like coming home.

She giggled. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you."

She leaned forward, tilting her head, and they kissed, their lips brushing and their tongues meeting with an electric spark. Luan's heart froze in her chest as he prodded her mouth, first hesitantly, the way a man might approach something he hasn't done in many years, then hungrily. His hands crept down the small of her back and clutched her behind, making her gasp into his mouth.

Somehow they wound up on the bed, Lincoln on top of her, his hands in her hair and his hips thrusting mindlessly; her dress had ridden up, and his denim clad erection rubbed between her swollen lips, sending tendrils of fire into her brain. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, grunting animalistically as he did so. She felt his head against her, then suddenly he was thrusting in, parting her lips and filling her. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming and wrapped her legs around his hips. He strained against her walls, and her muscles clamped around him, pulling him deeper, deeper, until he bottomed out. He pulled back slightly, then rammed forward again.

"God, yes," Luan moaned, moving her hips up to meet him, her brain a burning mass of desire. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

She ranked her nails down his back, his muscles flexing under her hands, and he cupped her breast, squeezing a yelp from her throat. She'd wanted this for so, so long, She'd thought of it, dreamed of it, and now that it was finally happening she was so happy tears streamed down her face. Lincoln pressed his cheek against hers and took her earlobe between his teeth. She shuddered and giggled.

"Get off," she said, "I wanna be on top."

He rammed into her one more time then pulled out and laid back. She climbed onto his lap and laid her hands on his chest. Her grabbed her hips and she sank onto him, taking just his head before lifting up, her head cocked and a mischievous grin on her face. "You want it?"

"Yes, I do," Lincoln said. A strand of hair had come free from her ponytail and lay across her face. She smiled widely, her eyes glowing with lust. Lower, her erect nipples poked through the fabric of her dress, making little tents. She was so fucking beautiful Lincoln could barely contain himself.

"You sure?" She lowered herself just enough so that he parted her curtains.

"Totally sure," he said.

"Alright." With that, she impaled herself on him, letting out a shuddery ahhhhh as he pushed past her lips and slid into her. She swiveled her hips, the way he rubbed against her insides sending her into the stratosphere. She threw her head back and ground against him, his pubic mound grazing her clit.

He felt so big in her, so right. She lifted up, and slammed back down. Again. Again. Lincoln groaned.

"You gonna cum in me?" she asked teasingly.

"Yes," he said.

"You gonna fill me up?"

"Yes."

"Make me your slut?"

"Yes!"

She was close: Her body was hot and shaky, her mind trembling. She lifted until he was almost out, then came back down slowly. He swelled in her, and she bowed her head as her orgasm rushed up in her. When he came, shooting hot ribbons of his perfect, beautiful seed against her womb, she lost control, her body jerking and her eyes fluttering. She collapsed forward, and Lincoln held her as she rode out the rest of her orgasm.

When she looked up at him, she was crying. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he said, and kissed her forehead. He stroked her hair and pressed her head against his chest. He was starting to cry as well. "So much."

"I hate her," Luan said savagely.

"So do I."

She looked up at him again. "Let's go. I don't wanna stay here another fucking minute."

He smiled and touched her face. "You read my mind."

Luan stood in the hall outside their parents' bedroom, waiting for Lincoln. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, she could see only darkness. When Lincoln's face appeared, she jumped.

"Here," he said, handing her the van keys. "I'll be right out."

"Okay," she said. Leaning forward, they kissed. "Hurry up."

"Right."

While she carried their bags downstairs (one for each, only the essentials), Lincoln crept to his parents' closet door, turned the knob, and eased it open, wincing when one of the hinges creaked. He paused, listened, then knelt down. The safe was behind a suitcase. Lincoln moved it, entered the combination, and opened the door. He reached in and pulled out an envelope. He opened it, saw a fan of hundred dollar bills, and stuffed it into the shopping bag he'd brought. He reached in again, and took out another envelope, this one marked LUNA'S COLLEGE FUND. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, and, feeling a brief rush of guilt, shoved the envelope into the bag.

The final time he reached in, his fingers brushed something near the back. He grabbed it, and pulled out a revolver: It was black with a dark brown grip. He didn't know his parents owned a gun.

Owned, past tense, he thought with a grin as he dropped it into the bag. He took a box of bullets next.

Done, he went to the door and looked one final time at the sleeping forms beneath the blankets.

Downstairs, he went outside, leaving the door open behind his as a sign of contempt. Luan was sitting behind the wheel of the van, and when she saw him, she grinned. "What'cha got?" she asked as he climbed in.

"Lots of goodies," he replied. "Money and this." He took out the gun and held it up. Luan's eyes widened.

"What do you need that for?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Self-defense?"

She chuckled. "Don't worry about that, Linc, I'll protect you."

"I know," he said, and leaned in for a quick kiss. "And I'll protect you."

She started the ignition and backed into the street, the spill of a lamp casting her face in an evil glow. "You ready for this?"

"I am," he said and took her hand.

"Me too. Fuck this place."

As they drove off, heading west, Lincoln flipped off the house at 1216 Franklin Avenue. It was not his home anymore, and never had been.

Luan was his home.