Lincoln Loud hefted the box with a grunt, stumbled backwards, and nearly fell. His back screamed, his arm muscles strained, and tears of exertion sprang to his eyes. He spun in a slow, cumbersome circle and lumbered out of the storeroom on bent, shaking knees. A brief hall lined with metal shelving lead to the counter and the almost-empty dining room beyond; a fat man in a business suit sat in one of the booths and made love to pastrami on rye and an old woman in a sleeveless white blouse that bared the varicose veins in her arms read from a romance paperback while her half eaten egg salad sandwich sat lonely on her plate.

Sweating and trembling like a powerlifter struggling to pick up a thousand pound dumb bell, Lincoln sat the box on the counter, leaned over, and fought to catch his breathing. D'Von, his coworker, opened an overhead microwave, took out a toasted ham and cheese on Italian, and dropped it on the line. He added lettuce and tomatoes, then checked the ticket for what other toppings the customer wanted.

When he trusted himself not to fall over dead, Lincoln grabbed a razor from under the counter and cut the packing tape holding the flaps of the box in place. He opened them, reached it, and took out a stack of napkins. He put them away, then grabbed another, and another. Once the box was empty, he broke it down and took it outside. It was past dusk and a warm breeze scented the night. Stars glinted overhead and the dull roar of the A/C unit drowned out the sounds drifting from the street out front.

The dumpsters were in an enclosure on the other side of the back parking lot. He was twenty feet away when the rancid stench of trash hit him full force. He crinked his nose and closed his mouth to avoid breathing any in. The dumpster was emptied once a week. By the time garbage day rolled around, it was overloaded and stank so bad you needed a gas mask just to walk outside. The manager, Bob, told the owner several times that they needed increased trash removal, but the owner never did anything about it: This was one of several properties he owned and probably the one he cared about least, so he came by about as often as Haley's Comet.

Holding his breath, Lincoln opened the gate, went in, and tossed the box into the bin marked SINGLE STREAM RECYCLING. A small, dark shadow streaked out from behind the dumpster and Lincoln jumped back in alarm. It darted past him, so close he could smell its wild odor, then bounded away into the night. Even in the middle of the city, possums, raccoons, and other small mammals were a fact of life. He didn't get a good look at it but he was sure it was one of those.

Either that or a giant rat.

A shiver went down his spine and he hurried back inside. The old woman had left while he was gone and the fat man's table stood empty, but his briefcase was propped in one of the chairs, suggesting he was in the bathroom. D'Von swept behind the line, and seeing the writing on the wall (WE'RE ABOUT TO CLOSE, BRACE YOURSELVES), Lincoln went to the janitor's closet and filled the mop bucket with soap and Mop-It-Once. He grabbed the mop, put it in, and wheeled the bucket into the dining room just as the fat man left through the door.

'Yo, you good to close without me?" D'Von asked from behind the register.

"Yeah, I'm good," Lincoln said.

After D'Von left, Lincoln mopped the floor, starting at the front door and ending at the back, emptied the bucket into the sink, and turned off all the lights. He set the security alarm, then went out the door, locking it behind him. The moon, wrapped in thin gray clouds, stared down at him like a skeletal face peeking through a rotting burial shroud. Heyya, Linc, howzit goin'? A warm gust of wind washed over him and flicked his cowlick, and he could almost believe in ghosts.

The bus stop stood desolate save for a single .40 ounce can of beer lying on its side, rolling back and forth as the breeze dictated. Lincoln sat on the bench, hunched forward at the waist, and rested his forearms on his knees.

Earlier, he decided to tell Sam and Luna that he had to leave. He was having thoughts that he had no right having and every innocent little thing Sam did convinced him a little more that she was flirting with him. He was so turned on the other day that he called Luna's...ya know…"sweet fruit." Just thinking about it made him gag. He didn't know why all of a sudden he was spazzing out but he was and sticking around probably wasn't the smartest idea. He was like a man infected with a contagious virus; he needed to be quarantined stat. If he wasn't, he might do something stupid. Like mistaking Sam's friendly hello for a come-on, then losing his mind to lust and grabbing her butt.

Was he mistaken though? He went back to breakfast that morning, Sam clad in nothing but a towel and batting her eyelashes at him like an old-fashioned maiden waving her handkerchief in the face of the man she fancied. That was kind of hard to misinterpret. Then again, he was a noob when it came to women. He wouldn't know if one liked him for sure until she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved her tongue down his throat, and even then he might be too dense to get it.

He thought Sam was making passes at him but he honestly didn't know, and that endlessly frustrated him. The best thing he could do was separate himself from the situation by running back to school with his tail between his legs. It was the only way.

During his outing with Sam and Luna that afternoon, he pumped himself up, but chickened out every time he resolved to get it over with and tell them. He looked for luls and openings in which to say something, but there weren't many, and he passed up the ones that did come along because it wasn't the right moment, or because he didn't want to put a damper on things. He looked high and low for excuses and he found them in spades, but one always does when they put their mind to it. He kept telling himself he was putting it off because it would be awkward and probably upset Luna, but now, alone with his thoughts for the first time in hours, he realized something.

He didn't want to leave.

He kept scrounging for reasons to put it off a little longer because he wanted to stay...just in case he was right about Sam liking him.

Wasn't that terrible? Sam was his sister's girlfriend and he was...what? Hoping they could...be together?

His heartbeat sped up and his stomach twisted into knots.

And what about Luna? She was acting strange too. First she was flirty just like Sam, then she got really quiet and contemplative, as though carefully examining every life choice that had led her to this moment in time while trying really hard to pretend she wasn't. That didn't mean anything, he guessed, but it still struck him as strange. Luna wasn't quiet and brooding, she was fun, outgoing, and dynamic. When she was around, the room came to life and electricity crackled in the air. She wasn't like that today. She was…

He couldn't put his finger on it. Brooding, yes, but there was something else, an undercurrent flowing just below the surface like a deadly riptide beneath deceptively still waters, a presence whose very exstence exuded a certain energy like chill from a block of ice.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was fear.

Fear of what? Fear of him taking Sam away? Fear of Sam taking him? Both? Neither? Something else? After Sam left, he and Luna finished their lunch and walked back to the apartment. She was stiff and uncomfortable at first, but she eventually relaxed, and by the time they reached the building, they were talking and laughing as they always had.

Was he imagining things?

Of course, there could be other answers. Maybe she and Sam got into a fight (though they were lovey-dovey at the restaurant, so that wasn't likely) or maybe she was on her period. That makes girls hormonal and stuff. On the other hand, she wasn't one to wear that kind of thing on her sleeve. He always knew when Lori was having hers because she'd get crampy, weepy, and curl up in bed, and Luan would suddenly stop making stupid puns because she felt bloated and mserable. Luna, though...he could never tell. She was laid back and easygoing no matter what. She had her moments - everyone does - but she was a placid and consistent person.

So her sour mood probably didn't come from menstruation. Did it come from the way Sam was acting?

That was the most likely culprit.

And another reason he should leave. He was coming between them somehow. The possibility of them having had a fight made the most sense. They argued over something and now Sam was trying to make Luna jealous or something by coming onto him.

But he didn't feel any friction between them. They were hugging, kissing, and playful at the restaurant. You don't do that with someone you're mad at. You cross your arms and pointedly look in the other direction, or glare at them, or...or something.

This was all so confusing and his head was starting to ache. He didn't understand what was going on or why but he felt guilty anyway, like he was playing some willing part in this. But here was the kicker: He didn't even know what "this" was.

Or even if there was a "this." He was inclined to believe that he was jumping at shadows and reading into things that weren't there.

Yet another reason he needed to leave.

The bus pulled to a stop at the curb, and with a heavy sigh, Lincoln got to his feet. The driver, a gaunt black man who favored Barack Obama, watched him warily as he boarded and dropped his change into the fare box. Keeping his head down, he made his way to the back and sat in a seat by the window. His watery reflection stared back at him, its face haggard and drawn, and he swallowed with an audible click. A snatchet of song bubbled to the surface of his mind and it was so fitting that he couldn't suppress a wan smile. Should I stay or should I go now? He couldn't remember the rest, but it perfectly encapsulated how he felt. Leaving would be the smart thing to do. Maybe Sam was coming onto him, maybe she wasn't, but getting out of Dodge would benefit everyone.

Only...he didn't want to. He wanted to stay...just in case.

Just in case what?

He cut that thought off before it could come.

Nothing. Just in case nothing.

Just in case Sam really did want -

She didn't, okay? And he didn't want her. He was being an incel spaz and latching onto a girl's friendly banter because…

Because he was lonely.

He didn't have a girlfriend, didn't even know how to talk to girls, and it was starting to get to him. He wanted someone to love and kiss and cuddle and...and all that stuff with. He wanted someone he could do the same stuff that Luna did with Sam. They were so free and easy with each other, almost like they were sisters who had known and loved each other their entire lives. No, that wasn't right. They were two halves of the same whole, yin and yang, two bodies, one soul. They completed and complemented each other, and when Lincoln really thought about it, he wanted that so badly it hurt.

Was he subconsciously trying to take Sam away from Luna? Was he trying to fill the void in his own heart by stealing his sister's girlfriend?

That gave him pause. Everything he thought Sam was doing could very well be his own mind playing tricks on him, getting him to think she wanted him.

He pondered that for six blocks before pushing out a heavy sigh. He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. He was so turned around and inside out that down was up and right was left.

All the more reason to remove himself from the equation. He could go back to school, clear his head, and get over whatever issues he had. When summer started, he could visit Sam and Luna again, then take a bus to Royal Woods.

Yeah.

That's what he'd do.

As soon as he got to Sam and Luna's, he'd tell them he had to leave in the morning.

For the next three miles, he tried to dredge up a convincing lie, and was still fumbling for one when he got off at his stop.

The moon sat high in the heavens and wind blew between the shadow-wrapped buildings lining the street. Lincoln shoved his hands into his pockets, bent his head against the breeze, and quickened his step. Cars passed in either direction, and a group of black men sat on the crumbling stoop of a brownstone tenement, the warm smell of weed thick in the air. They laughed uproariously at something Lincoln missed. He couldn't help thinking it was him.

At the end of the block, he turned a corner and glanced reflexively up at Sam and Luna's building. It stood black against the stars, windows all ablaze with light. Disquiet gripped him and he came to a shuffling stop, feet scraping the pavement. He gulped like a man faced with a giant, flesh eating monster and his bowels quivered. A little voice in the back of his head told him to turn around, catch the last bus, and take it back to his dorm. He could call Luna once he got there, tell her a friend texted him and needed his help. Yeah, Jeff's really drunk. I know I've never mentioned him before and he has the exact same name as the guy Sam was talking about earlier, what a coincidence, right? Would she buy that?

Did it matter if she bought it?

He drew a deep breath through his nose and let it out in an even rush. Whether she did or not, his duffle bag with all of his clothes was in there, sitting between the couch and the end table. He'd have to go back and get it sooner rather than later.

Resigned to his fate, he started walking again. He paused once more in a pool of rusty orange light cast by a streetlamp, wavered, then forced himself on. In the lobby, a woman in jeans and a halter top stood at the mailboxes and chatted with a man in a wife beater, and somewhere, bass heavy rap music played. Lincoln climbed the steps with all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the gas chamber and hated himself for already thinking about putting off leaving yet again.

At the door, Lincoln hesitated, then knocked. The muffled sound of footsteps approached and the knob rattled. When Sam appeared in a white T-shirt and plaid lounge pants, his heart rocketed into his throat and almost shot out of his mouth like a wad of phlegm.

He expected her to half-lid her eyes, press herself to the doorjamb, and grind herself against the frame like a bitch in heat. Instead, she gave a curt nod. "Hey, Linc." She turned around and went back to the couch, leaving him to stand dumbly at the threshold.

Hey, Linc.

T-That's all?

For a second, he stayed where he was, then went in and shut the door behind him but didn't go any farther. Sam sat on the couch with her arms crossed and stared at the TV where a man in sunglasses and a leather jacket did a vigorous Charleston to Cake By The Ocean. Lincoln looked around for Luna but didn't see her, and his stomach clinched. "Is Luna here?" he asked, hating the childish inflection in his voice.

"Nah, she's still at work," Sam said.

Oh.

So they were alone.

A vision flashed across his mind like the killing blade of a knife: Sam seductively licking ice cream from a spoon and looking at him with eyes that triggered deep, primal urges the way a female cat's scent does in toms. His throat went completely dry and suddenly he itched all over like he was covered in bugs. He lowered his gaze to the floor, rubbed the back of his neck, and worked up enough saliva to wet the inside of his mouth. What should he do? Hide until Luna got back? There weren't exactly many places in the apartment where an adult male could lose himself. The bathroom, maybe, but that was about it.

Sam went on looking at the TV, its blow glow reflecting in her eyes, and Lincoln scratched his head. Was it just him, or was the silence between them uncomfortable? He surreptitiously studied her face. Serene. Untroubled. The way a girl - or boy - sitting on their couch and watching television should be.

Then she looked at him, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Can you sit down?" she asked. "You're making me nervous."

Lincoln blinked in surprise. "Sure," he said.

There was only one place to sit.

The couch.

The nape of his neck tingled, and steeling himself like Danial descending into the lion's den, he scurried past Sam and sat against the arm, as far from her as he could get; a gap of two feet separated them, and if she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him.

She didn't.

Instead, she gave her full and undivided attention to the screen. The man in the sunglasses did a backflip, then thrust out his chest and shook what his mother gave him, which wasn't much. He was almost as thin as Lincoln. "What are you watching?" Lincoln asked when the silence became unbearable.

"Detroit's Got Game," she said.

Ah, the local talent show where city residents displayed their talents for a chance at winning a cash prize. Lincoln didn't care for it but he watched it from time to time when there was nothing else on. In his periphery, Sam shifted from one toned little butt cheek to the other as though she were starting to get restless. Lincoln cast about for something to break the uneasy pall between them. "Did you, uh, see the one with the guy who could make his eyes bulge out?"

Sam crinkled her nose. "Ew, yeah, that dude was gross."

"And the guy who ate car engines."

She threw back her head and laughed. "They didn't have someone eating engine blocks on there," she said.

"I swear," Lincoln said, "he couldn't eat the whole engine in one sitting but he could eat it. Like, he was chewing on fan belts and stuff."

Sam opened her mouth then closed it again. "Really?" she asked incredulously.

"Look him up." Lincoln said, "he eats all kinds of weird stuff. Like broken glass and 2x4s." He stopped and thought for a moment. Was that the same guy who claimed to eat twenty pounds of meat every single day? Or was that someone on My Extreme Life? He watched that show a lot. It featured people with strange addiction, habits, fetishes, and lifestyles.

Detroit's Got Game went to commercial, and Sam flopped her head back. "With or without nails?"

"Uh...I think it had nails in it, actually."

She shuddered. "Imagine what that stuff does to your insides."

"I'd rather not," Lincoln said with a sour twist of the lips.

"Imagine what it does to your butt."

A shocked laugh escaped his throat. "I really don't want to think about that."

Sam grinned. "Imagine what it does to…" she trailed off, rolled her eye to the ceiling in thought, and hummed. "Eh, I got nothing."

"Your septic tank?" Lincoln asked.

She jabbed her finger at him. "Yes, exactly. It's all filled with steel, screws, and hubcaps and every time you have it drained, you have to pay extra to have all the scraps hauled off to the junkyard."

Any chilliness that may have existed between them had begun to thaw, as they both started to relax. Just like old times, Lincoln inexplicably thought. "I'm worried about his teeth," Lincoln said, "like, how he gets all those metal shavings and stuff out."

"Heavy duty floss," Sam said confidently.

"Barbed wire," Lincoln corrected.

She snorted. "Does he eat car batteries too? Like...those are corrosive, dude. They'll eat you."

Honestly, he couldn't remember if that guy ate the battery or not. He seemed to remember there being some things that he either couldn't eat or was too nervous to try. He said as much, and Sam shrugged.

Shortly, Luna came through the door and took her coat off. Lincoln tensed and darted his eyes from her to Sam and back again.

"Hey," Luna said easily. She kicked off her shoes and came into the living room on bare feet. Her gaze flickered to Lincoln, then quickly away. Unless he was completely paranoid, there was a hint of shame in her limpid browns, as though she'd done something horrible to him and couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. She leaned over and Sam sat up straight to join their lips. Lincoln looked away, uncomfortable...and maybe a little jealous. "How was your day?"

Sam lifted one shoulder. "Eh. I got to leave early and made double pay, so...how was yours?"

Sitting between Sam and Lincoln, Luna sighed. "Crap. But every day's crap." She glanced at Lincoln. "What about your day, bro?"

"It was alright," Lincoln said and nervously played with his hair. Luna's leg was bare inches from his own and he could feel her body heat breaking against his skin. He went back to that morning, wedged between her and Sam (the latter clad in nothing but a towel) and his throat swelled closed. Part of him wanted to lean into her, and another wanted her to go away, and they did battle in the center of his chest like anime characters.

Thankfully, she got up and went into the kitchen and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Okay, he decided, he'd tell them he had to go. Quick and painless, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Sam stood and followed Luna into the kitchen.

When they got back.

He'd tell them when they got back.

A half an hour later, they sat on the couch with plates and forks in their hands. Tomorrow was payday, and the only thing in the pantry was instant rice. Luna doused it in salt, pepper, onion powder, red pepper flakes, and Frank's Red Hot. Lincoln's mouth tingled and even though he wasn't hungry a few minutes ago, he shoveled big forkfuls down his gullet like no tomorrow. "This is good," he said.

"I make it all the time," Luna said. "I call it Poor Person Surprise."

Lincoln swallowed. "What's the surprise?"

"Toenail clippings," Sam put in.

Luna rolled her eyes. "I don't put that in here. I use locally sourced and ethically harvested boogers."

Even though he knew she was playing, Lincoln gagged at the image of big, slimy wads of dried snot cold and gelatinous on his tongue. Luna laughed and Sam grinned around her fork. "How do those maggots taste, Michael?"

That made Luna howl and Lincoln knit his brow in confusion. "Huh?"

Sam shot him a dirty look, and he recoiled. "Dude, you've never seen The Lost Boys?"

"No," Lincoln said at length and readied himself to be ripped limb from limb in a fit of nerd rage. Sam was one of those people who think her favorite movies and music are universal and that if you don't know about them, you're either a moron or hopelessly deprived.

Instead of going after him, she turned her faux-fury on Luna. "You never showed him The Lost Boys? Bruh."

Luna shrugged. "Never got around to it."

"Well," Sam said, "we're gonna fix that right…" she glanced at her phone. "Tomorrow. It's almost bedtime."

So it was now or never. Lincoln started to tell them about needing to leave, but cut himself off. They looked so happy and bailing on them would get in the way of that.

Therefore, he didn't say anything.

For their own good.

And absolutely not for his.

Absolutely not.

Luna Loud sat up in bed by muted lamplight and crossed her bare arms over her chest. A sullen expression that had been fighting to come out all evening was tattooed to her face and beneath the cover, one foot jittered a restive tempo. In the bathroom, the shower cut off and the curtain pulled back with a series of metallic clinks. She took a deep breath and let it out evenly, but it did little to relieve the pressure building in her chest. The door opened and Sam came out in a puff of steam, clad in only a T-shirt and a towel wrapped around her head. She went to the dresser, opened a drawer, and slumped her shoulders. "You didn't do the laundry."

"No," Luna said tightly. I'm not the only one around here who can wash and dry clothes, Sam, she thought but didn't add.

"I guess I'll do it tomorrow," Sam said nonchalantly. She closed the dresser, came over to the bed, and sat down, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She took the towel off, dried her hair, and tossed it at the hamper. It missed and landed in a heap on the floor. She kicked her legs onto the bed and nestled into her pillow. She glanced at Luna, and the words died on her lips. "I know that look."

Of course she did. They'd been together for years. If she didn't know it, that'd mean she wasn't paying attention. "What's your deal?" Luna asked.

Sam blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You were so hot to get Lincoln and then you just...stopped."

"Well," Sam said, "to be fair, you stopped."

Luna opened her mouth to fire back but Sam had her there. Last night, as they lay in bed, they planned every step they would take. They would tease Lincoln, get him ready, then attack, but when it came time to pull the trigger, Luna froze. Every happy memory she had ever made with Lincoln came back to her in a flood and she choked. Later on, she tried to identify exactly why, but her thoughts and emotions were a hopeless jumble. She was afraid of hurting their relationship, she was appalled at herself for wanting to turn something so pure and wholesome into something it was never meant to be, she hated herself for wanting him, she hated Sam for pushing her, she hated Sam for letting up when she needed to be pushed the most, and she hated the universe for turning her happy little life into a raging dumpster fire of want, lust, and need.

She didn't know where she stood right now, and that bothered her. She was normally in tune with herself but now...now she was lost and drowning. She wanted Sam to leave her alone and let things be, but she also wanted Sam to keep guiding her to Lincoln's arms the way she had been. She didn't know which she desired more, but she thought it was the latter.

"Yeah, but I...I got nervous and…"

Not knowing how to continue, she trailed off. What did she want? She had to make a decision once and for all, no more waffling, no more screwing around. Did she want to take the next step with Lincoln...or did she want things to stay as they were now?

Sam's hand fell on her knee and she jumped. "Look," Sam said softly, "I know how much this is messing you up...I shouldn't have forced you, okay? I'm sorry. I just thought it'd make you happy and I, like, overreacted. It was wrong of me to shove my nose where it didn't belong and I'm sorry." She sighed, as though she'd finally gotten something that was bothering her off her chest. "The choice is yours. I won't meddle anymore. If you want, we can keep going. And if you don't, we can stop."

For a long time, Luna digested her girlfriend's words.

Up to you.

But that was just it. She didn't know what to do. It was part of the reason that, despite all her earlier complaints, she had wanted Sam to push her. Was grateful for it, even if she wouldn't admit it. If she was just going with the flow, then none of it was her fault. None of it was her responsibility. But now, disguised in consideration and compassion, Luna felt like that was exactly what Sam was asking her to do. To really commit and chase this dream of hers, whether it had a good ending or not.

She was at an impasse. Two roads converged in front of her, one leading to Lincoln, and the other leading to Lincoln also...but this version was naked. The image knocked a stressed laugh from her throat.

"...I don't know." She finally whispered, holding her head in her hands. Her voice was a tense squeak, and the faint but real note of despair it carried belied the depths of Luna's anxiety. "I don't know what to do. I just..." She turned to her girlfriend, eyes dewy, her heart open and vulnerable. It was too much. She was begging for Sam to take the decision out of her hands again.

"Well..." Sam seemed to pick up on her thoughts and gave her a soft, understanding smile, "Why don't you just leave it alone for now? Focus on enjoying your time with him. We still have almost a week until he has to go. There's no rush. You can make up your mind later." She fluttered her hand to Luna's cheek and grazed her thumb lightly over her lips. "Listen to your heart but don't let it boss you around." There was a stretch of silence. "You know I'd never let you get hurt, right babe?" She finally asked, and after only a moment's hesitation, Luna nodded. The brunette leaned over and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist, laying her face against the crook of Sam's neck like a lost, miserable child. She tried not to laugh and gave the top of her head a gentle kiss.

Later that night, after making love, Luna rested in her partner's embrace and drifted on tides of warm, fuzzy feeling. She decided she would think about the Lincoln situation later, just like Sam said. She gave a long, relaxed sigh. All she had to do was do what Sam said...

She closed her eyes, and in only moments she was asleep.

Both women lay there, in the dark and the easy silence. As Sam at last felt her girlfriend drift off, she grinned.

Deviously.