Thanks again to DoctorYNot for making this chapter shine.
The party started just after dusk. Sam and Luna had been busy setting up for close to half an hour when the first guest arrived. Lincoln had just gotten out of the shower and dressed in a pair of jeans and a white polo shirt - he wanted to look nice but casual too. Knowing Sam and Luna, their friends would all be in ripped jeans, Converse All-Stars, and plaid; he didn't want to look like some kind of stuck-up prep, but it was either a polo or one of the tank tops he slept in. Call him shy, call him self-conscious, but the thought of baring his pale arms and nothing-to-write-home-about chest in front of people he didn't know made him falter.
He was somewhat surprised and a little relieved when the first guest turned out to be Mazzy, Sam and Luna's old friend. He didn't know her well but she used to hang out with their group when they were still in high school. She looked much as she had then, with dark red bangs covering her eyes (she wore her hair that way in conscious imitation of Slice, the guitarist from Pistols 'n' Poseys, her favorite band). The only difference he noticed was the reek of cigarettes that enshrouded her like a stomach-turning forcefield. She grabbed his hand, squeezed so hard he swore he heard bones crunching, and gave it a vigorous shake that nearly dislocated his shoulder. "Hey, man, long time no see!" She beamed, tickled at meeting her friend's little brother, now all grown up. "How you been?"
"Long time no see, Mazzy," he smiled, inwardly flinching at the pain in his arm. "I've been alright. You?"
"Same shit, different day, man," the woman shrugged, "I'm working at a gas station these days and play drums in a band on the weekends. We play gay bars for free beer." Her grin suggested she was happy with that arrangement. "You still in school?" She asked.
"Yeah," Lincoln confirmed sheepishly, "Mainly for art."
Older people - and even some of the guys he knew on campus - rolled their eyes or gave him a hard time when he mentioned being an art major. You're gonna come out and wait tables, his roommate teased, no one with an art degree makes it. Mazzy, on the other hand, only nodded. "Hey, man, that's tight. You're into comics and stuff, right?"
"I am," The young man admitted. He hated telling people like her - cool people - about his love for comics, because even if they didn't say anything, he felt like they looked down on him as a geek or something, but he supposed it didn't matter. Lincoln rationalized that Mazzy knew him from before, so it's not like she wasn't already aware he was a dork.
She hummed her interest. "That's pretty cool. You gonna do your own one day?"
In the living room, Sam sat a platter full of chips and pretzels on the coffee table and in the kitchen, Luna pulled a cooking sheet laden with chicken wings from the oven. Lincoln noticed them out of the corner of his eye. "I mean, I hope." He scratched the back of his head, "You know how it can be, though."
"Keep working at it," Mazzy encouraged him, "Creative stuff always takes a lotta practice."
Done with laying out the snacks, Sam passed behind Lincoln and went into the kitchen, sidestepping Luna. "You want something to drink, Maz?" She asked over her shoulder.
"I'm down," she said, "What'cha got?"
"We got the hard stuff," Sam said and held up a bottle of rum, "and we got the soft stuff." She flashed a bottle of green apple flavored Smirnoff.
Mazzy scrunched her lips to the side in thought. "I dunno, my instincts are telling me to go all the way, but I got work tomorrow, so...eh..." After a moment of consideration she finally shrugged, defeated, "Hit me with the bitch drink."
Sam tossed the Smirnoff underhanded and Mazzy snatched it out of the air. She twisted the cap off and shoved it into her pocket. "I love this junk," she winked to Lincoln, before taking a heroic pull. The boy said nothing, quietly impressed by the pace she was setting right off the bat.
"Linc?" Sam drawled sweetly, batting her eyelashes. Lincoln put his guard up a bit as he turned back to her. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was up to something. "Are you thirsty?"
"Sure," He answered, not wanting to look the wimp after Mazzy's display. "I'll take a Smirnoff."
A devious little grin skipped across Sam's lips. "I have something else in mind. You're gonna like it."
There was a twinkle in her eye, and for the first time in days, Lincoln's throat constricted as a queer sense of danger started tickling at the base of his spine.
Turning away, Sam took a bottle down from one of the overhead cabinets, sat it on the counter, and fetched two glasses from the drying rack. Next to her, Luna used a spatula to transfer the chicken wings to a plate, then beckoned Lincoln over. "Can you set these on the coffee table, bro?"
He gave her a thumbs up, receiving the offered plate and walking it over to the chips. Mazzy stood in front of the TV and took a long drink from her Smirnoff, apparently amused by what she was watching. He took a glance while picking up a wing. Onscreen, a fat woman sat up in bed and shoved a Burpin' Burger Deluxe into her mouth. After lunch, I'm going to see Dr. Now and find out if I qualify for surgery, she declared happily. Lincoln paused, looked down at the chicken wing he was holding, then back at the woman on TV. He hesitated for a moment before slowly putting it back.
Maybe he'd have a carrot stick instead.
Someone brushed against him and he jumped. "Here you go, Lincy," Sam said and handed him a glass.
The liquid inside was pure black.
"What's...What's that?" he asked cautiously; Sam was definitely the kind of person that you liked, but didn't fully trust. There was no way he was going to pour an unlabeled drink she'd prepared for him down his throat without getting the facts first.
"Kahlua," The blonde smiled, "It tastes like coffee. It's my favorite drink!"
He stared down into the contents of his glass with a bemused, though slightly less wary, frown. They made liquor that tasted like coffee? Maybe he was callow when it came to alcohol, but even as someone that genuinely enjoyed peanut butter and sauerkraut sandwiches, coffee and booze struck him as one of those strange and unnecessary combinations that couldn't possibly be good. He lifted it to his nose and gave a dubious sniff.
It smelled just like he thought it would, like coffee grounds and alcohol.
Sam arched her brows. "What, you think I did something to it?"
"N-no!" He said, perhaps a bit too quickly, "I just...never had it." He shook his head, "It sounds kind of weird, to be honest."
"It's not," The rocker assured him. "I promise. I drink it all the time. Just have a sip and let the coffinated goodness flow through you."
Lincoln wrinkled his nose. "I don't think that's a word."
"Look~ it~ up~." She pronounced each syllable slowly, drawing a circle on his chest with her fingertip each time she did, pink lips pursing as though she were preparing for a kiss. Lincoln's stomach gave an apprehensive lurch. "But have a drink first. It'll help you...unwind."
There was a pregnant pause between you and unwind, and the corners of her mouth curled up in an elfin simper that somehow managed to be both innocent and dirty at the same time. She nodded to his glass, and he realized he was staring at her. "Go on," she pressed, "Unless you wanna be a doofus like Mazzy and only drink girly wine coolers."
"Fuck you, bitch," Mazzy said around a mouthful of chicken.
Lincoln brought the glass to his lips and hesitated. Seeing that he still wasn't sold, Sam shoved her hand under the glass, palm up, and lifted. The young man's eyes widened in alarm as cold kahlua splashed against his lips, and he had no choice but to drink like an altar boy accepting communion before it could all spill down his shirt.
To his surprise, it tasted a lot better than it smelled.
"Good boy," Sam purred while patting his head with her other hand; the playful condescension in her voice and the vulnerable position she had him, Lincoln too busy guzzling down the drink to swat her hand away, made him blush down to his neck. Mazzy, for her part, seemed entertained by the way Sam was putting him through his paces. Thankfully the party hadn't kicked off yet and so his sister's old bandmate was the only audience to his emasculation.
The next three guests came in a group, friends of Sam and Luna's Lincoln had never met before. He missed the woman's name, but the men were Rick and Daryl, or maybe it was Mick and Errol. Rick-Mick was tall and lanky and wore a kit cap and a plaid shirt; Daryl-Errol was short and husky, a smiley face with its eyes stitched closed emblazoned across the front of his shirt; the woman was cadaverously thin with a mane of curly red hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks. Sporting a nose ring, tattoos on her bare arms, and black-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses, she looked like one of the vegan hipsters who occasionally protested about the patriarchy in the campus commons at his university.
Looks can be deceiving. In actual fact, she pounded three chicken wings in her first five minutes there, then affectionately referred to Daryl (her boyfriend, Lincoln gathered) as 'that fuckin' fag.' Lincoln simply smiled friendlily, unsure how to respond; he was intermittently sipping the second of his Kahluas, the first having been essentially shotgunned thanks to his sister's girlfriend, and before he was even finished with it, Sam appeared next to him, snatching the glass out of his hands for a refill.
"Here you go, Linc," she said and held out his refreshed drink, now topped up to the rim once again.
His instincts again told him she was up to something, but he wasn't as on guard anymore and happily took it. The concoction was indeed good and, from what his admittedly limited drinking experience told him, not very strong. He didn't see any danger in having just a few more.
In the kitchen, Luna slid a cooking sheet out of the oven and sat it on the stove. A dozen pigs-in-a-blanket baked in the light cast by the range, several burned and the rest two shades above golden brown. "These goddamn things always burn," Luna said bitterly.
"Aw," The young woman suddenly felt someone hugging her from the back and could feel her girlfriend's teasing pout as she gave her a soft kiss on her shoulder, "Life got you down? I have the perfect solution." Sam spun her around and proudly presented a glass of kahlua she'd just prepared for her. "Get drunk."
Luna gave her a blank stare. "No way, dude. Someone has to be the grown-up tonight. You know how the guys get at these things."
"Oh, come ooooon," Sam begged.
"Not happening, sorry." Luna crossed her arms, arching a brow at Sam's insistence.
The blonde rolled her eyes and shook her head as though her girlfriend were being completely unreasonable. "You're being a stick in the mud. It's Lincoln's last day here, the least you can do is make the most of it. Not doing so would be disrespectful." She turned to Lincoln. "Right, Linc?"
Lincoln nodded, smirking, grateful that he was for once on the attacking end of one of Sam's ploys. Besides, he too was eager to get his sister to relax a bit. He'd sensed her stress over the past few days and thought this party was a good chance for her to blow off some steam; he only felt bad he'd been too self-involved to notice her mood sooner and ask about what was wrong. "Really disrespectful. Might as well spit in my face."
"See?" Sam asked and turned back to Luna. "You're being mad rude." Her girlfriend pursed her lips, unconvinced. "You know you waaaanna~," The blonde tempted in a singsong voice. She held the glass under Luna's nose, practically fanning the alcohol fumes up her nostrils.
"I don't wanna get tore up," The rocker repeated, though her resolve was obviously weakening.
"I'm not asking you to get pissing-and-fall-down drunk," Sam said, exasperated, "Just to have a few drinks and lighten up. We'll be good, I promise."
In the living room, Mazzy laughed at something Daryl said, and his girlfriend punched him in the arm. Luna glanced at them out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip, then turned back to the irrepressible troublemaker she shared her life with. "If I start drinking, I'm gonna get wasted," She murmured, still unsure, her crossed arms slackening a bit in front of her chest.
"You being a sloppy drunk who can't control herself is your problem," Sam declared. "Now take the drink or I'm gonna make you take it."
Luna wavered for a moment before throwing her hands up in exasperation and taking the glass. "Fine, you pushy bitch," she scolded. There was a gleam in her eye that betrayed her; she wanted the drink all along, she just needed a little prodding. Why, Lincoln didn't know. Maybe being bullied into it made her feel like it wasn't really her choice and gave her an excuse to blame Sam if she did something stupid? His sister wasn't a heavy drinker and had, to the best of Lincoln's knowledge, never done anything outrageous while under the influence. He doubted she expected this time to be any different, but if perchance it was, she had a scapegoat.
Upending the glass, she drank it all at a draught, swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and let out a crisp ahhh, like she was doing a commercial for a soft drink. "There," She said, then broke out in a big, lopsided grin. "I tried to burp but I couldn't." The girl admitted.
Sam took her glass, went over to the counter, and filled it again. "You gotta have two before you can start burping." She held it out and her girlfriend took it with a flourish. Luna slammed it again, then visibly tried to work up a belch, her throat muscles contracting but to no avail. The blonde crossed her arms over her chest. "Wow, fail. What a loser, right, Linc?"
"Embarrassing." He shook his head, "You really let me down, sis."
"Screw you both," Luna laughed.
Sam opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again. Lincoln wasn't the best at reading people, but he thought could see the retort in her eyes as clearly as if it had been written in six foot tall neon lights. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, he blinked and it was gone again. Lincoln wondered if it was ever actually there, or if the booze was just making him get weird again.
He didn't have much time to dwell on it before someone knocked on the door. Sam finished off her drink and went to answer it while Luna sidled up next to him. "How's it taste?" She asked and motioned to Lincoln's glass with her chin, cradling her own drink. "Sam hocks it to everybody. You'd think she owned stock in the company. I gotta admit, though, she got me hooked."
"It's pretty good," He said truthfully.
"I like it with Fireball," Luna grinned.
The young man recoiled. "Fireball? The cinnamon stuff? Come on, that's way too much."
"Hey," Luna laughed, "Don't knock it 'till you try it. It tastes like a Starbucks Christmas latte or something." She frowned for a moment, nodding seriously. "It'll give you heartburn, though."
He bet. Really, who came up with the idea of cinnamon flavored alcohol? It just sounded like a bad idea. Alcohol makes you puke if you drink too much. He imagined puking but instead of kahlua it was pure, burning cinnamon. The thought made him grimace.
A moment later, Sam came back with the new arrival, and Lincoln's jaw nearly dropped. "Chunk?"
Six foot two and 300 pounds of manchester muscle shoved into a vest and newsboy cap, Chester 'Chunk' Monk was the 'roadie' for the band Sam and Luna had in high school. In actuality, he worked as a bouncer for one of the clubs Luna played (by way of special agreement with the owner) when she'd still been an underaged solo act. One night, Luna sprained her ankle on stage and Chunk helped her down and carried her things for her. Somehow, he wound up sticking around. He'd come over to the house once in a while and help her move her amps or load her stuff into the van, and in return, she gave him free food. He was especially fond of their dad's beans and franks, and for two helpings, he'd do pretty much anything. Once he'd even crawled under the house and fixed a broken pipe; Lynn Sr. had kept him in franks for a week after that one.
"Aye, mate," Chunk greeted, a sense of delighted recognition coming over his face halfway through shaking the boy's hand, "Well if it ain't Lincoln bleedin' Loud!" He gave one of his trademark booming laughs. "Been an age, hann'it?" His eyes were hazy and bloodshot and the stench of stale beer rolled off of him in waves, but his easy bearing and kind smile hadn't changed at all. The young man was hit by a nostalgic rush; he was genuinely thrilled to see his old acquaintance, a feeling buoyed by the alcohol now in his system.
"I can't believe it!" Lincoln laughed, clapping him amicably on the shoulder. "How have you been? What have you been up to? I thought you got deported back to the UK!"
Chunk recoiled, not sure if he was kidding. "Where'd you get that idea?"
"Sam told me." He answered innocently.
They both turned to look at the blonde, who offered a sheepish smile. "I may have, you know...been putting you on a little."
"Never happened, mate," Chunk finally shook his head, chuckling. He quickly gave Lincoln his own friendly knock on the arm. "I ain't been back since '09. Place went to shite! They put you in jail for drawin' nudie pictures now, so I've heard." He sighed at the sorry state of his homeland. "You got somethin' to wet me whistle? I drank me last beer on the drive over."
Sam spun on her heels, pressed up onto her tippy toes, and opened a kitchen cabinet. She took something down and handed it to him. It was an oversized can of Guinness. "I saw this and thought of you. There's only one, though, after that you have to drink American stuff."
"Pity," he said dryly. "I've never gotten pissed on Natural Ice or Budweiser."
For some reason, Lincoln didn't believe him.
After Chunk, the others arrived in short order, a veritable garageful of neon haired boys and mohawked girls in studded leather. He was introduced to them one at a time, but the only one Lincoln knew was Tabby, one of Luna's friends from Royal Woods who moved to Deer Park after ninth grade. She and Luna were pretty tight for a while, then Tabby left and Lincoln hadn't seen her since. Watching her come through the door felt almost surreal, another intense wave of nostalgia washing over him; he hadn't even thought of her in years. They all mingled and Sam and his sister lead him around to make the rounds and get to know everyone, but for some time afterwards, his eyes kept going back to the girl because something about her being here, like a misplaced memory, made him dizzy. She was a blast from his past.
"Heyya, Linc," she greeted him with a dazzling smile when he finally made his way over. She'd apparently lived in the States long enough that her original british accent had largely disappeared, and she'd changed her hair from the pixie cut she had as a kid; the youn woman wore it to her shoulders now. Overall she looked just different enough that he wouldn't recognize her if they passed in the street. Once, long ago, Luna set them up on a date, and he remembered being a little apprehensive that she was so much like his older sister in both personality and appearance. He'd wondered if that wouldn't make things weird if they ever dated. Now, he sorely wished to kick himself.
Maybe things would have been different if he wasn't so stupid.
A chasm of loss opened up in the pit of his stomach and he found himself suddenly awash in bitter regret, the buzz he had going leaving him prone to sentimentality. He gave her a tight smile and nod of acknowledgement on his way to the kitchen table, before pouring himself another kahlua and knocking it back in an attempt to preemptively stuff the dark feelings surfacing in his middle. Heck, maybe he could go talk to her and -
No, he shouldn't. She wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't the person she used to be and Lincoln honestly felt no urge to be with her. If she looked like she did when she was younger - short hair, freckles, soft, brown eyes - then he would.
An image of Luna came unbidden to his mind, and he batted it away quickly. He couldn't elude the revelation that came with it, the revelation that he felt the same way for Tabby now that he did then, only in reverse. She reminded him of Luna. At eleven, that left him badly conflicted when placed in a romantic context. Now, today, it excited him instead.
The young man's lips puckered sourly as he nursed his half-empty glass. The awful thoughts and feelings he had at the beginning of the week were beginning to surface again, their journey back to the forefront of his mind facilitated by the booze; he knew if he dwelled on them, he'd soon be right back where he started.
Right where he didn't want to be...where he couldn't be.
The partygoers were clustered in the living room with red plastic cups in their hands. Chunk said something and everyone laughed uproariously. They had all been drinking and were starting to get into it. The edges of Lincoln's nerves had softened some but he still didn't feel drunk, or even tipsy. He wondered how much alcohol was in the kahlua. It couldn't be much: while he could kind of detect it at first, all he could taste now was coffee. Sam went over to the stereo system next to the TV, took a CD out, and stuck it into the tray. "Music time," she sang. She pressed the PLAY button and rock drifted from the speakers, to the cheers of the assembled group. All, that was, besides one young man, who, halfway through claiming the band Sam had selected was 'so 90s chart-grunge', got smacked on the back of the head by Chunk.
Lincoln idly looked around the room for Tabby again but found his gaze kept getting drawn to his sister instead: she sat on the arm of the couch with a glass clutched loosely in her hand and laughed so hard at someone's joke that she snorted. Her face glowed like a light in the darkness to him and Lincoln drew a deep, dreamy sigh.
Gritting his teeth when he realized he was staring at her in a decidedly unbrotherly way, he forced his eyes to his glass. It was somehow empty even though he couldn't remember finishing it.
Softer, her laughter
Harder, to see her
She's gasping against the horrors
Far straight with the mutters
Someone brushed his arm and he started.
"Cool party, huh?" Sam grinned, squeezing up next to him. He should have guessed.
Lincoln looked away before he could stare at her the way he had Luna. "Uh...yeah, i-it's pretty cool."
"It'd be even cooler if you went and mingled a little," Sam pointed out, amused.
The young man felt put on the spot. "I don't really know anyone," he countered sheepishly.
"You know Mazzy, Chunk, and Tabby," Sam said. "That's, like, a quarter of the people here."
"I don't know them well," he protested.
"Then get to know them," the blonde insisted. "Unless you like hanging out in the kitchen." She quirked a brow, her hands working to make herself another drink. "Which, I mean, that's cool too. I'll just have to keep you company." Her smile sharpened and a gleam crept into her eye. "You want another drink?"
"I shouldn't..." He hesitated, "I don't wanna get too messed up."
Sam laughed. "Oh, come on, Luna," she chided, "Lighten up, huh? You're young...you don't have any obligations tomorrow…'' She presented him with a fresh glass and locked eyes with him. As her baby blue irises bored into his, the vise he felt around his chest every time he was near Sam tightened. "...and you're cute." She winked, "Live a little."
So half the way there
Do you ever care?
Do you ever think
Suffering on a drink?
Lincoln darted his eyes between the glass and her face. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and for some reason that struck him as so funny he laughed. Sam pressed her lips together to keep from laughing too, but soon gave in and joined him. "Seriously!" She grinned, "Get the stick out of your butt and act your age. You can be lame and dumb when you're older."
"Alright," Lincoln at last succumbed. He took the glass and took a drink. "Happy?"
Sam brushed her teeth across her lower lip. "Hummm...I will be."
'Cuz you're half the way to me
Will you ever see?
Half the way to Earth
Do you feel my worth?
Time passed and Lincoln had another drink, then another one after that. His senses dulled, warm cotton swaddling his brain, and he started to feel brassy and loose. He had lost track of the music, the words having devolved into meaningless sound that he could only somewhat decipher by around halfway through his fifth glass, and before long he was in the living room talking and laughing along with everybody else. Somehow he eventually found himself off in a corner chatting with Tabby; to his surprise, the longer the evening went, the more drawn to her he was. She brought up the Sadie Hawkins dance and Lincoln groaned. "I spent the whole night running around," he said, "I think I got hurt somehow but I can't remember."
"You kept disappearing," Tabby called him out. "I thought you just didn't like me."
Sam came in from the kitchen with a glass in her hand, sat on Luna's knee, and threw her arm around her shoulder. She pressed the glass into her girlfriend's hand and flashed her a wicked smile. Go on, it seemed to say, drink and be merry. Luna, engaged in conversation with Rick, took it without a second thought.
Now Lincoln was starting to feel the kahlua, far too late after having already thrown back so many, but the sugar and strong coffee taste had disguised the alcohol until several glasses-worth were already digesting in his stomach. If he kept drinking, he'd cross the line from tipsy into drunk, but crucially, he was also tipsy past the point of caring about that. He felt easy and good and he wanted it to last as long as possible. The young man stood over Sam and Luna, Tabby at his side, and chatted easily with the others, his inhibitions numbed and any self-consciousness from being among strangers long forgotten in the smoky haze. Tabby slammed one glass after another, as if trying to catch up to him; the volume of her voice increased and the latent twinkle he thought he saw in her eye was getting stronger than ever. She brought up the time Principal Huggins split his pants during an assembly, and Lincoln laughed with drunken abandon.
"I'm pretty sure he was wearing a...THONG," Tabby slightly slurred.
"No, he wasn't," Lincoln shook his head, "He was wearing boxers with hearts on them."
She nudged him hard with her elbow and he started to fall over but caught his balance. "You didn't see," she
said thickly, "I did, his cratery butt cheeks haunted my dreams for YEARS."
"They were covered," The boy insisted, "Maybe you imagined they weren't 'cause you really WANTED to see them."
She laughed and shoved him again; this time she stumbled and almost went down, but he grabbed her arm and held her up. She placed a hand on his chest softly to steady herself, then pulled in a little closer to him, smiling. "You're not funny," she lied, "I didn't wanna see his butt. You wanted to see his butt."
"Well I'm not the one who dreamed about it." He teased her some more. The booze had now totally smoothed out the rough edges of his nerves; Lincoln felt breezy and nonchalant, even with a cute girl hanging off him.
"She was flicking the bean to it for years," Mazzy interjected.
Tabby spun around and jabbed her finger at the older woman, "Not true, man, that is not true."
"What do you flick the bean to, then?" Mazzy arched an eyebrow.
"Your mom." The girl shot back.
"So you're that way, huh?" Mazzy stated. She took a drink from her glass and in that moment, she looked so much like the old Kermit the frog drinking tea meme (but that's none of my business) that Lincoln laughed.
Tabby shook her head and hooked her arm around Lincoln's shoulder. They both started to fall, and the young man braced his feet against the floor to keep them upright. "I dig chaps," she declared defiantly, "like Landon here."
She turned to look at him as if expecting him to confirm it, and her hot, boozy breath filled his nose. He realized their lips were mere inches apart and his heart jumped painfully into his throat. A leering, pervert grin blossomed across her face when she noticed his expression, and Lincoln briefly felt like a field mouse getting beared down on by a hawk.
"His name's Lincoln, luv," Chunk interjected, startling him out of the spell she had briefly put him under.
"I know that, Chungus," she said, exasperated.
Tabby released the boy and swaggered off to get another drink, and he took a moment to collect himself, realizing only then that his heart was racing. The obvious hunger in her eyes sent ripples through his stomach and all at once, something occurred to him.
Tabby was beautiful.
He didn't notice it at that dance so long ago and he didn't notice it when she first showed up tonight, but she was. Craning his head around, he stared at her; she stood at the kitchen counter, slightly bent, and poured herself some rum, her black hair hanging messily in her face as she hummed happily. Her back was curved, her hips rounded, and her heart-shaped butt stuck gently out as if inviting him to press himself against it.
Perhaps feeling his stare through some sixth sense known and enjoyed only by the female race when there was a boy drooling after them, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. One corner of her mouth turned up in a knowing smile, and a tight band closed around Lincoln's lungs.
He didn't notice how beautiful she was...he also didn't notice how much she actually still looked like Luna.
"You want a drink?" She asked.
Lincoln was dimly aware that he was gaping at her, and forced himself to look away. "Yeah, sure," he said.
She poured a glass for him and set the bottle aside. Tabby turned, leaning her elbow against the counter, her long legs crossing as her grin sharpened. "You gonna come get it?" She asked.
Unless he was imagining things, there was a seductive, come-hither lilt to her voice that even a virgin like him couldn't mistake. Her eyes darted up and down his body, the girl clicking her tongue appreciatively; Lincoln lost himself to the queer heat he felt Tabby's leer stoke within him, and in response to her seeming challenge leered at her right back. His eyes took in the long, alluring legs her faded, low-rise jeans clung to, the top of her hips peeking out between the denim and the fabric of the mauve Aquasmith camisole she wore, continuing up as she yawned and pretended to stretch the shirt rode up to expose her smooth, tight navel, her bellybutton piercing gleaming enticingly. Lincoln's gaze continued up, up, over her modest but perky breasts, until it finally landed on the smooth line of her jaw and the ridges of her collarbone peeking out from over the top of her shirt, mind drifting pleasantly as he pictured himself peppering urgent kisses over her creamy flesh, the tang of salt from her skin on his lips. Something within him stirred.
Normally, he might tuck his tail between his legs and scamper away, but right now, he was filled with liquid courage and vibing on the energy of the party, the friendly laughter, the slow, sultry music, and the look she was giving him. He breathed easy, owning the moment like spare change in his pocket, and glided over, picking up his glass and leaning his back against the edge of the counter as casual as could be. "Thanks,'" he said and took a sip. Slimy, warm rum splashed down his throat and burned all the way to his stomach. He grimaced and let out a grunt.
Tabby laughed. "Too strong for you?"
Yes, it was way too strong for him.
Of course, he wouldn't say that. "It's alright." He shook his head.
"There's only one reason to drink," The girl said, "And you're not gonna get there unless you drink." She lifted her own glass to her lips. Her dark eyes sparkled over the rim like mysterious galaxies, uncharted but inviting. She tilted the glass back, and Lincoln's gaze went to her delicate neck once more. A silver chain lay slack against her pale skin, a Celtic cross nestled in the hollow of her throat, and when she moved, it glimmered in the light.
She sat her glass down, propped her elbow on the counter, and ran her fingers through her hair with a sigh. Lincoln had read somewhere that a girl touching her hair while she talked to you meant that she liked you. He didn't know if that was true or not. In that moment he hoped it was.
Neither one immediately spoke, and Lincoln shifted his weight from one foot to the other like a man figuring out an angle of attack. "I like your necklace," he finally offered.
She glanced down at her chest and pinched the cross between her thumb and forefinger. "Yeah, it's an..." She hesitated; it seemed to hold a special meaning to her. "An Irish cross."
"It's cool," Lincoln said, pretending he didn't already know that. "Are you Irish?"
Tabby shook her head. "Nah, man, it's Bleak Advent. Like, their symbol."
"You like Advent?" He asked. Cool people, people in the know, never called that band by its full name, only Advent. Luna had told him that, so he trusted it without question.
Tabby nodded. "Yeah, it's my favorite band." She tucked her chin against her chest and lifted her eyebrows. "You'd know that if you danced with me that night instead of faffing off."
He laughed. "Hey, I didn't even wanna be there. I only went because all of my sisters made me go with their friends."
"You dick." The girl chastised him playfully. "Luna told me…" Tabby slammed the rest of her drink and let out a refreshed sigh, "She told me dude, my little brother's down because he can't get a date to this dance. You gotta go with him."
Lincoln laughed. "That's a lie! I wasn't even planning to go. You know why I-" He paused, but gave a mental shrug. "-faffed off?" She quirked a brow and Lincoln finally spilled the beans to her about what had happened that night. "I was ducking this one girl 'cause I thought she wanted me to go with her, but I had to act like it was that she hadn't asked me out because my oldest sister was dating her brother and, you know, I didn't want any trouble." He sighed. "But then I got home and a bunch of my sisters were like we set you up on dates with Tabby, Haiku, Polly, Giggles and...another one, I think?" He honestly couldn't remember if there were any other girls involved. Seeing through the mist in his brain was hard, especially when it was something that happened, like, ten years ago. Lincoln paused to mutter the comment 'there sure were a lot of you' under his breath, which drew a bark of laughter from Tabby. There HAD a lot of them, he remembered that much, but the only one he'd always recalled clearly was her. He idly wondered why that was. "I tried to come clean then but they weren't having it. I pretty much had no choice after that."
The girl seemed tickled after finding out the truth. "She said you needed a date and she told me he's really cute, you'll like him." She smirked.
Lincoln smiled coyly. Luna said he was cute?
"And you know what?" Tabby asked and leaned in.
"What?" Lincoln asked back.
"She was right."
In the living room, Luna clutched her drink and stared into the kitchen with bated breath. Lincoln and Tabby were standing really close to one another and had been for what seemed like an eternity.
She hadn't really noticed just how well they were getting along when it had first started. At the beginning of the party everyone had been piled into the living room, talking and joking together, and she didn't think Tabby picking a spot next to her brother was a big deal. Even when she started horsing around with him, Luna still didn't sweat it; she knew that's just how Tabby was with people she felt comfortable with. The two had ended up peeling away from the main party together later and she assumed they were off somewhere catching up, same as Lincoln did with Chunk earlier that night; after all, the last time they'd seen each other was years ago and there was a lot for them to talk about with everything that had changed in their lives since then. All of these were reasonable things to assume, she had told herself at the time. There was no reason to freak out.
As time passed, though, and Tabby and Lincoln didn't rejoin them, a faint but very real sense of anxiousness started welling up in the pit of Luna's stomach, like a premonition. Perhaps it was her womanly instincts putting together what was going on before her distracted, conscious mind did, but in any case, that was the point she couldn't help but start actively paying attention to what the two were up to. She knew she was being paranoid and goofy, and she'd never suspected in a million years she'd be the type to go stalker on anyone, but for some reason the disquiet within her kept growing as she kept glancing at Lincoln's back over in the kitchen from her place on the couch. Luna just couldn't help herself, unable to shake off her funny feeling. At last he moved, and she suddenly caught a flash of Tabby's face past Lincoln's shoulder. What she glimpsed there made the bottom feel like it had fallen out of her stomach; in her friend's eyes Luna saw, obvious and unmistakable to her, desire. Carnal intent. Her heart suddenly thumped hard against her ribcage, and horror threatened to blossom in the center of the young woman's chest. A sudden hideous revelation took hold of her as she realized her inexplicable dread earlier had been her subconscious warning her, trying to get Luna to stop being in denial and acknowledge what was actually happening between Lincoln and her old friend. To open her eyes.
She had waited too long.
That was the terrible thought she'd immediately had upon seeing the look Tabby was giving her brother, and which kept repeating over and over in her mind. She had waited too long.
Sam had pushed her, encouraged her, given her opportunity after opportunity to let Lincoln know how she felt and made conditions as favorable for her as she could to do so. If it was ever going to be the right moment, this week had been it. She could have made her move at the museum, at the restaurant afterwards, heck, even that morning when they were spending time together. Now it was too late. Luna's mind, already stressed by everything that had happened, instantly jumped to the worst possible conclusion: someone had finally seen in Lincoln what she saw, and she was going to take him away from her.
Acid bubbled in her stomach; the sensation of having something taken from her she hadn't even gotten to at least first possess was intense and sickening.
Though most of the time it bothered her, there was indeed a small part of Luna, a part she didn't like to acknowledge existed but that was definitely there, that liked that her brother didn't have good luck with girls. She was aware of how selfish and pathetic it was to take comfort in something she knew caused Lincoln grief, but she couldn't help it. It gave her hope. Hope that maybe...maybe he'd be desperate. That maybe if he really thought he couldn't get anyone else, he'd at least entertain the idea of entering a relationship with her, his own sister. It was an ugly notion, and a stupid one besides, she knew it would never actually work out like that, but it was still often the only scenario she could imagine of an actual romance between them happening that her cynical heart would allow had any possibility to it whatsoever. It was important to her, even if only because it let her fantasize about a world in which they were together without her jadedness reminding her it could never happen.
But now even that was gone. Tabby was fun and pretty, and most importantly, NOT Lincoln's sibling. That was the handle. It wasn't that Luna was insecure, this wasn't some hurdle of self-esteem or worry she wasn't good enough for him. Luna had confidence in herself, most of the time. It wasn't about her looks or even her personality. They were brother and sister. The relation they shared was the thing she believed he would never be able to get past unless he had literally no other choice.
And now he did. So why would Lincoln even consider looking to her anymore?
The young woman was suddenly gripped, powerfully and all at once, by the full horde of her inner demons. Dammit. Dammit. Why didn't she act sooner? Why couldn't she just grow a pair and tell him how she felt? The whole time he'd been here, she had been trying little by little to pump herself up to do it, but every time push came to shove, she crumbled and backed down. She kept putting it off and telling herself that she still had time, he wasn't leaving for four days, then three days, then two. Time ticked away and still Luna held out hope that she would magically find the guts to tell her brother she was in love with him. It never happened.
And now it was over.
Back in the kitchen, Lincoln and Tabby chatted and drank. He'd been wrong to just look at her appearance. The more he actually learned about her, the more she reminded him of Luna, and the more he found that didn't bother him one little bit: the way her face lit up when she talked about music, her playful and easygoing nature, the way she still said certain words with her old british accent. In less than twenty minutes, he was as comfortable talking to her as he was a longtime friend and with every passing moment, he liked her just a little more.
As time passed, he and Tabby's conversation turned flirtier, while at the other end of the room Luna, unbeknownst to him, slowly became less present, less interested in the party around her. She was still trying to pretend everything was alright, but her fake smile still faltered just a bit every time she heard Tabby giggle behind her, her words would still hang every time she turned to answer someone's question and happened to see the young woman giving her brother another casual touch on the shoulder. Soon enough Luna reached her breaking point; she took a break from mingling with her friends and found a seat on the edge of the couch, clutching a drink tight between her folded hands and sipping at it sullenly every so often. Being forced to stand by helplessly and watch the boy she'd been pining for her whole life get stolen away, in the middle of a party in her very own apartment and surrounded by all her friends, was like a nightmare with a soundtrack. Though in the middle of a crowd, she was well and truly alone; all around her everybody she knew continued to laugh and joke, having a terrific time, completely oblivious to the unreal misery she was experiencing.
All of them, that was, aside from one.
After having another drink, Tabby excused herself to go to the bathroom, and Lincoln watched her walk away, his eyes nakedly on her butt. He was so caught up in the show that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until Sam brushed against his arm. "Heeeey, Linc," she purred, though there was an urgency to her tone that hadn't been there before.
"Hey." He turned to her and smiled, and his uncharacteristic ease when doing so left her hesitating.
"I see you made a new friend." Sam probed.
Lincoln shrugged, but it was difficult to hide his growing excitement, the real chemistry he sensed between him and Tabby. "We've been talking," he tried to play off his obvious interest.
She arched her brow and for some reason he couldn't name, Lincoln felt like she was wordlessly accusing him of doing something wrong. "That's...nice," she said, her voice trailing off. Sam seemed to consider what to do for a moment before stepping forward and lightly pressing herself against his arm, looking up at him with a smug, sinful little smirk. He could distinctly feel the shape of her breasts, and when she laid her hand on his chest, his back stiffened. "I hope you don't like her more than you like me." She offered, and though she tried to sound nonchalant when she did, inside she was more than a little nervous.
Sam and Luna's mutual friend Tabby being so into Lincoln was a wrench in her plans that she hadn't been expecting, despite her teasing him about the possibility of it earlier that day. In fact, the blonde had been planning to run interfence in case he really did catch one of their friends' fancy, but it felt like she'd only looked away for a second and by the time she looked back the two of them were already practically making out! Sam was worried badly for her girlfriend's emotional state having to sit there and watch the pair flirt like they were the only two people in the world, and even more worried over the nascent feeling she had that throwing this party in the first place might have well been one giant fuck-up on her part. She knew if they actually ended up hooking up it would be a disaster, and all her fault to boot. Sam had asked her girlfriend to trust her, and under her confident exterior she was panicking that she'd betrayed that trust and let her down. She knew how much Luna's brother meant to her. The blonde was fretting that she'd ruined something the woman she loved held dear; that in her lust-crazed haste to push them closer, she'd instead only created one more obstacle to keep them apart.
Lincoln flashed her a questioning smile, confused by what it was she was actually asking. He looked to Luna for help, but his sister wasn't paying attention; she was off in a corner of the room, staring down at the floor, looking utterly disconsolate as she rubbed the rim of her glass with her thumb. The sight made Lincoln's heart twinge hard enough to sober him up a bit.
He didn't have much time to think about it before Sam laid her palm flat on his chest and pushed up on her tippy toes. Their eyes were level now, her breath tickling his lips and the smell of booze filling his nostrils. "You
don't like her more than you like me, do you?" She demanded with a playful edge to her voice, trying to hide the apprehension she was feeling.
All Lincoln could do was shake his head helplessly. He didn't know if he liked Tabby more than he did Sam, but Tabby reminded him of Luna, and he did like that. It was complicated...
"Good," she said, relieved.
A few minutes later, Tabby came back and the blonde floated away with one last cautioning look over her shoulder. She raised her brows as if admonishing him to behave, and he offered back a wan, puzzled grin. Regardless, Sam would keep her distance. She knew it was too late to get between the two now. After what she'd said that morning, she was afraid that if she tried to drag her friend away using some excuse the boy would see right through her intention and ask her some questions she wasn't prepared to answer. Not yet.
All she could do now was keep her fingers crossed. Keep her fingers crossed and have some faith in Lincoln Loud.
"Miss me?" Tabby asked him with a teasing smile.
"I didn't even notice you were gone," he said honestly. He didn't mean to, it just slipped out; it was exactly what he would have said to Luna.
She grinned and rammed her elbow into his arm, but soon afterwards let her body follow it to lean herself against him. "Ass."
For the rest of the night, they hung out in the kitchen and talked. Time seemed to fly. At one point a song came on that Tabby claimed she loved and she pushed him to slow dance with her; Lincoln didn't really know how to, but the girl swayed against him all the same and when his hands drifted down to hold her by her hips, she purred. At that point, some unseen pressure he couldn't explain moved him to glance out over the living room; when he did, he caught Luna spying on the two out of the corner of her eye. The expression she wore, though she tried somewhat to conceal it, was one that screamed pain and betrayal. Was he just being paranoid? Regardless, the sight made his stomach clench with guilt and he didn't understand exactly why. He wasn't doing anything wrong!
...Was he?
Eventually, the party at last began to wind down. Mazzy was the first to leave, grousing bitterly that she had to work that morning, then thanking Sam for the invite and promising she'd throw the next bash. She was soon followed by Daryl, Rick, and what's-her-name, with the rest leaving intermittently, a few at a time. In the aftermath red solo cups, some empty and others half-filled, dotted the kitchen counter, the coffee table, and the top of the stereo and stray chips, crumpled napkins, and chicken bones littered the floor. Luna came into the kitchen, eyes staring straight ahead, as though she refused to acknowledge the two's presence, and the atmosphere immediately became heavier, like she was dragging the weight of the world in with her.
"It was nice...it was nice seeing you again," Tabby said as she pushed off from him gently, and the young man found himself deeply missing her warmth. The girl had sobered up a bit since earlier. She hesitated, then smiled to herself and ran her fingers through her hair. "You, uh...it's kinda dangerous out there. You wanna walk me home?"
The look in her eyes let him know that she had a lot more planned than just walking.
This was it, the moment of truth. Lincoln sensed her expectation, the quiet excitement in her voice. It was the question he'd been waiting for the entire night. Hadn't he, that very morning in fact, ginned himself up, promising that he was going to start taking more chances and putting himself out there? That he wasn't going to leave his own sick hangups for his sweet, blameless sister to deal with? Now here was his chance to make good on that. Tabby was a genuinely great girl, one who he really liked and who he was pretty sure liked him back, and she was asking him to go home with her. It was exactly what he'd been asking the universe for.
So then why was he feeling so guilty?
He tried to calm his inexplicable misgivings by fantasizing about what might happen if he agreed and his own mind filled in the blanks, extending this evening they'd shared off into the future. He'd walk her to her apartment building. She'd invite him in using some excuse he'd which he'd pretend to believe. They'd spend the night together. It'd be good. The morning after they'd trade phone numbers, meet again, and eventually start dating. He would finally set down all the emotional baggage he'd been carrying over Ronnie Anne, stop creeping on Sam, stop thinking about his sister as anything more than his sister and have a normal, good, healthy, exciting relationship with this girl he was so into.
It was all there, waiting for him. All he had to do begin that adventure was say that one simple word: 'yes'.
And then, for some reason, he glanced back at Luna. She was pouring herself another drink, a stiff one this time by the looks of it. Her eyes were red and watery and she seemed like she was genuinely about to cry. Lincoln couldn't remember the last time he remembered her looking so miserable. His stomach twisted, squeezing so painfully it made him wince.
Lincoln shut his eyes. A distressingly familiar feeling surged up within him, one that had been rare recently but which he'd experienced all the time back when he still lived at home with all his siblings. He tried to fight it, that urge to do what came so naturally to him then, tried to live up to the promise he'd made to himself to make the effort to change. He really, really did, for Luna's sake as well as his own...but after a brief yet intense struggle, he knew instinctively it was useless. He couldn't do anything about the kind of guy he was.
"...I can't." He at last forced the answer past his lips. The boy's breath hitched with disappointment before he finally released it one long, drawn-out sigh, his body deflating with it even as the pain in his stomach instantly eased at his refusal. He opened his eyes again to look at Tabby sadly. "I have to help them clean up and stuff."
Luna froze mid-pour.
Bafflement flickered across Tabby's face. "O-oh." She faltered. "Well, maybe some other time...?" The girl asked hopefully.
"Maybe," he said and forced a smile.
The two chatted for a bit longer before sharing an awkward goodbye hug, and that was it. Lincoln watched her walk away, and as he did he could see all those sunny, pleasant visions of their future together he'd enjoyed earlier evaporate into nothing the moment she stepped out of Luna and Sam's apartment without him. At that moment, the young man was suddenly deeply certain he was going to die alone. He sighed again, wiping at his face with his hand, and took the opportunity to wallow in his self-pity like a pig in mud.
Lincoln was only snapped out of his melancholy by the murmur that came from his side. "Why'd you do that?" Luna asked quietly, having found a place next to him. She still wasn't looking him in the eye, instead stacking empty glasses into the sink as though it was only an idle question, as though what had almost just happened was no big deal to her rather than a vision that would haunt her dreams forever. "How come you didn't go with Tabbs? She was probably going to lay you, you know..."
A pang of regret rippled through Lincoln, but he shook his head. "Maybe," he said, then turned to look at her over his shoulder. "But you looked upset and-" The young man hesitated, "You're more important."
It was true. That was the inevitable cause for his refusal, the one eternal detail about himself that no amount of internal pep talks or solemn self-help vows were ever going to change. In the end, it didn't matter how old Lincoln got, how much he drank, or how sexy the girl showing an interest in him was: deep down he was still that same eleven year old kid who would always put his sisters' needs ahead of his own. Luna was obviously hurting, and he couldn't find it in him to leave her to suffer over whatever it was that had her down just because Tabby had invited him to walk her home, even if it WAS for the good of their relationship in the long run. No, Lincoln could never simply go off and be happy while one of his sisters wasn't. It just wasn't something he had the ability to do. The young man smiled mirthlessly.
He was what he was.
Luna's hand paused midway through reaching for a cup. For a moment she just turned to look at him, dazed, then, as his words sank into her addled brain, a huge grin suddenly bloomed over her face, radiant enough it almost made his eyes sting. "Yeah?" she asked, one of the corners of her lips curling up in a smile so wide it exposed a canine.
"Yeah," he confirmed with a defeated laugh at her reaction. She was. He shook his head. "So what's wrong, anyway?" Lincoln asked gently, shuffling a bit closer to her side.
His sister couldn't help but tremble at the tenderness and concern she heard in his voice, unable to bring herself to meet Lincoln's eyes. She hesitated for a moment. "...S'nothin'," Luna finally slurred, either from drunkenness or a sudden onset of emotion he couldn't tell, turning away from him to hide her face. Normally he might be miffed that she was still being so mysterious even after he'd made such a sacrifice, but curiously, it didn't really bother him too much right then. The two just stared off into the living room together, watching the guests leave. Lincoln was surprised when he all of a sudden felt his big sister hugging his arm, but smiled all the same; he responded by pulling her closer. The young man relished in the simple, innocent intimacy of the embrace, the sublime warmth and comfort that came from just being there with his favorite person in the world and holding her close without having to say a thing. Luna gathered her courage before at last laying her head on her brother's shoulder and grabbing his hand to lace her fingers between his.
The feeling he'd gotten when he was with Tabby came rushing back, only it was sharper now, more intense. To his surprise, he didn't worry that it was his sister causing it this time. It was fine, he decided. Just for now, it was fine.
"Nothing's wrong," Luna murmured again, smiling against his skin as she fought not to let the tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes fall and ruin the perfect moment with the boy she loved.
She meant it.