Brave for Him

The wind howled. Lightning flashed in the night sky erratically. Thunder rolled back and forth, a drumbeat echoing across the heavens.

The storm was really giving it its all. This was its big debut after all. It had spent years hanging around the local counties, putting in its hours, a squall here a shower there, generally just building up experience mostly. Now an opening in the weather had given it a chance to really start strutting its stuff.

It was a good storm, all things considered. Flashy in all the right ways, taking especial care not to overdo the lighting, and excellent projection there with the thunder, real passion. But stage fright can get the best of all of us and the one thing critics would point out was the distinct lack of rainfall to accompany it.

Sophie Parker was not one of these critics, as it happened she was quite grateful for the lack of precipitation. Though judging by the rolling black clouds briefly illuminated by the fork tails of light and heat in the sky she was working with borrowed time and had best start moving along.

Gripping her coat tight Sophie kept up her steady pace through the dark and the storm, violently shivering as the wind whipped at her face and legs. Muttering under her breath Sophie brushed her bangs out of her face, huffed when they immediately fell back, and continued on her way. A part of her wondered why she wore her usual plaid skirt in this weather, another part wondered why she even came out when she knew there was a storm.

An astute observer would no doubt find it odd, indeed, fairly alarming even, that an eleven-year-old girl should be wandering out so late at night, and in a storm no less! Sophie had her reasons, none of them were particularly good mind but they were hers and that’s what mattered. Thankfully there were no observers, astute or otherwise, to notice such troubling behavior and anyways she hadn’t been caught yet so why stop now?

The peace of mind was worth the inherent risk in her young mind. Whatever it takes to just get away for a bit.

Anyone that knew Sophie would no doubt be astounded she was prone to such antics. Of course, they wouldn’t know her as Sophie Parker, to the general student body she went by such notable monikers as “Shy”, “Shy-Sophie”, or a particular favorite among the other girls, “Shyclops”.

It was a stupid nickname, Sophie thought to herself, brushing her hair aside. It stayed put teasingly for a few seconds before falling back over her left eye.

As far as bullying went she got off on the lighter end of the stick. A little light teasing, a hurtful word or two, some bad nicknames with a side of jeering, wasn’t that bad really. She was shunned, yes, but it didn’t matter. She preferred being by herself anyway. Some folks had it worse anyway, it wasn’t like anyone had ever hit her. Compared to something like that being ignored was practically a godsend!

Sophie wasn’t the type to argue that the names weren’t appropriate either. She was shy, she’d come to terms with her chronic antisocial tendencies, no surprises there. Why, she could barely talk to another human being without stuttering! Social interaction? Hah, you can keep it!

Self-assurance was a wonderful thing, especially when no one was around to point out all your flaws.

And it wasn’t like she wanted to be a coward, it was just so much easier than literally every other alternative. She wasn’t any good at talking to people anyway, why try when it will inevitably lead to failure? It was easy to tell someone to be brave, it was another thing entirely to actually go about doing it.

It’s be nice, she thought, if someone else would do all the work for her. If some handsome and sensitive yet also forceful but not too forceful young man would come in and swoop her off her feet like in those romance books her mom keeps and tells her not to read. Those books had happy endings, the girl barely had to do anything but get caught up in the excitement that came with being noticed by a boy. For young Sophie, who had about as much knowledge concerning the opposite sex as she did quantum physics, this seemed the norm for romance and she approached this like she did most things in life.

Which is to say not at all. She preferred looking out from behind something heavy and solid and just wide enough to dip behind should someone turn around.

A flash of lightning forked in the sky above her and was soon followed a peal of raucous thunder. The storm was starting to step up its game and threw a little extra wind in there to help stir things up before the big finale. Sophie took a quick glance up to the sky and shivered. The clouds had grown so thick the stars and moon were blocked out. The rain was coming soon and if she didn’t get back home now she was going to find out what being a sponge felt like. A nervous thought then ran through her mind, that there were in fact worse things than the rain. Like getting home after her mom and dad did. After midnight. When they expected her already in bed?

Yeah...

It dawned on her as she sprinted off down the sidewalk that if she really wanted to get back before the rain, and her parents, then she would need to take a shortcut. In most cases a shortcut would constitute taking a separate street, perhaps a nice stroll through a park or down a scenic road to avoid traffic. Sophie though, had another tactic in mind.

It wasn’t that fence-hopping was a habit of hers, she’d just had lots of practice is all. She was certainly good at it, young and spry and most importantly light enough to vault and scramble over fences in her mad dash to get back home. It was good exercise, and anyone who saw her in gym class, or rather saw her do nothing but lounge about in a far-off corner of the gymnasium, would no doubt be astonished at the level of physical activity she was actually capable of.

The trip was largely uneventful, aside from one yard with a dog (damn thing chased her over two more fences), and she was making pretty good time. A canon shot from the heavens reminded her that she’d have all the time in the world to gloat when she got back home.
Sophie hopped the fence with all the skill and grace she could muster, vaulted over the side, and landed on something hard and bumpy. A scuffle of wild swings and muffled curses rose from the battered heap and Sophie let out a short scream as she was hefted up and tossed aside.

With a wheeze the young lass pulled herself up and quickly glanced over at the thrashing something she had wrestled with. What appeared to be a very angry blanket stood up and leaned against the fence, it’s ‘skin’ expanding and contracting as odd protuberances lashed out and punched into the air.

She was further surprised when the top half of the blanket fell away to reveal a head of white hair.

“L-Lincoln?” Sophie stammered.

The buck-toothed face of Lincoln Loud turned to face her, his normally fair features twisted into a mask of outrage and perhaps just a hint of fear.

“What’s the big–" Lincoln cut himself off short when he noticed the girl in front of him and leaned forward to squint at her. “Shy?”

Sophie couldn’t help but flinch at that, then noticed her position on the ground. She closed her legs, pushed down her skirt, and pulled her coat around her with a cough. Lincoln echoed her sentiments with a blush and looked off to the side while she got to her feet.

“Why are you in my backyard in the middle of the night?” Lincoln asked her as she started to brush the dirt and grass off her knees.

Sophie considered the question, turning it over in her mind this way and that way. It was a very good question she had to admit, structurally sound. Sophie wasn’t much for conversation but a lifetime of survival in the public education system had taught her you didn’t get far if you couldn’t whip up a quick defensive argument.

“Why are you in your backyard in the middle of the night?”

She beamed. There, the oldest trick in the book, deflecting the question. And she’d even managed to get through that without a single stutter.

“My family locked me out.”

Sophie deflated like an old balloon both at the words she’d just heard, but also the unperturbed manner he had said them. It was almost robotic really, as simple as stating a fact. And what a fact! Sophie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting but it certainly wasn’t anything like that.

Sophie tried to open her mouth, but nothing happened. Just as well, she didn’t have anything to say either. Lincoln must’ve sensed this because he didn’t press the issue any further, opting instead to lean back against the fence and slowly slide down it. He pulled his knees up close to his body and laid his head down, a whisper of a sigh drifted in the air.

Sophie suddenly realized her earlier assessment was incorrect. Lincoln wasn’t indifferent at all.

He was just hollow.

Sophie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, couldn’t have been more than minute, but that was more than long enough to make things uncomfortable and eventually Lincoln’s head peeked up over his knees and he looked at her with a mix of confusion and irritation.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be,” he asked, and his voice shook Sophie from her thoughts. The lass barked out an awkward laugh, rubbed her arms, and decided to say goodnight.

“G-g-g-g-g’night!”

Close enough.

Pleasantries exchanged the red-faced girl made a quick mental note. Looks like she was never talking to Lincoln again. Not that she ever did mind, but it was nice having the option.

Sophie turned on her heels and started walking. In that little part in the back of her mind she expected to hear him cry out Wait! and stop her. He’d ask her what she was doing outside by herself and she’d give him a little wink and a smile and maybe say something like, wouldn’t you like to know, before hopping the fence. He’d think about that for a while, he’d remember her, he might even talk to her so that way she wouldn’t have to do it first. That’s how it happens in the books after all.

Sophie made her way over to the fence. Slowly, deliberately. She stopped for a second, milled about, took another step...

She wasn’t going to look back. That’d be pathetic, even for her.

So, when the only thing she did hear was the clamor of the heavens above her she suddenly felt quite a bit upset, like she’d been robbed of something.

Then she felt something entirely different. Something quite a bit more physical. Something wetter.

Sophie looked up to the sky and got a raindrop in the eye for her troubles. She had just enough time to say, “Oh,” when the storm apparently got over its performance crisis and endeavored to make up for lost time. The downpour wasn’t so much torrential as it was territorial, the only bright side Sophie could see was that she had the presence of mind to close her mouth before she drowned.

A sudden pressure on her shoulder made her yelp but the noise was cut short when that same pressure dragged her backwards and forcefully shoved her into a cramped space. The landing wasn’t well-executed, and she had hit her head on the doorway, but the doghouse was dry and that was better than nothing.

“Looks like Charles slept inside today,” Lincoln said, curling up next to her. His smile suddenly shifted into something of a sneer. “Probably gave him my room,” he muttered bitterly.

Sophie wisely decided to say nothing, opting instead to look around. Yep, it was a doghouse alright. Cramped and smelly, but dry. That was more than she could say for herself. She’d only been out in the rain for a few seconds, but she was positively soaked. Outside the doghouse the thunder raged, and lightning flashed in the sky, the wind howled, and the tress shook, the rain pounded against the roof in a heart pounding drum; and altogether Sophie felt the storm was just showing off now.

Something warm and fuzzy pressed against her side and Sophie turned her head to see Lincoln holding out a towel for her.

“Good thing I put some in here for the dog,” he said, obviously pleased at his foresight.

For Sophie that just made everything that much worse. He shouldn’t have to be using blankets and towels in a doghouse. Just what was he doing out here? Lincoln never seemed to have any trouble in school, no black eyes or bruises, he didn’t act like somebody with home troubles, or at least what she assumed they acted like.

The Loud family was infamous throughout all Royal Woods, with each of the ten sisters, even the baby, having been responsible for some disaster or another. But with such infamy also came prestige, and each girl was also held in high regard as a maestro, a literal genius, a fashionista prodigy, a star athlete, a professional comedian, a beauty pageant virtuoso, and a myriad of other professions.

And then there was Lincoln. The only boy in the family. The quietest Loud, though not for lack of trying. It just seemed that no matter what he did he never quite measured up. He seemed happy enough though, he had friends, hobbies; to be honest Sophie had never really noticed him that much, nor he her. A mutual lack of communication.

In the dark confines of the doghouse, with the storm raging outside, with the cold wet damp settling into her bones, Sophie realized with somewhat of a start that she was really starting to notice him now.

Red-faced and shivering Sophie took the towel with a muffled thank you. The two sat in silence for some time, listening to the storm outside their meager hut shake the trees and rattle the house. Lincoln seemed off in his own little world and Sophie wasn’t about to bring him back to this one, the poor lass was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she was sharing such proximity to a boy. Their arms were practically rubbing all up against each other!

Still, it wasn’t exactly bad...

Pretty nice, all things considered~

It wasn’t like Lincoln wasn’t good looking or anything. Kinda cute with those buck teeth. The white hair was very striking now that she got a good look at it. And his eyes too, such a nice color-

“Are you okay?”

“Eeeee,” she replied, and tactically turned her head so quick she felt something crack in her neck. There was a cough, a general rustling of clothes, and she slowly turned back to Lincoln with as strained a smile as they come.

“F-f-fine...”

Lincoln narrowed his eyes and pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Uh-huh,” was all he said. Then he looked down and his eyes widened in alarm. “Oh crap, your clothes are soaked!”

Sophie shrugged and tried to laugh it off, which was hard to do with her mouth closed so Lincoln couldn’t see her chattering teeth. He snorted and without a word reached up and grabbed the blanket draped over him. He held it out to her with a small smile and a blush on his face.

“Don’t give me that, you’re so cold you're stuttering,” he teased, and Sophie gave another nervous little titter. “Hear, the blanket didn’t get wet.”

“W-well, i-i-it w-will if I-

“Just take them off then.”

He said it with a blush and his eyes off to the side but as far as Sophie could tell there was nothing but good intentions in his words. She didn’t want to freeze, and its honestly pretty amazing how something like a person’s will to survive trumps petty things like moral restraint and societal restrictions.

It wasn’t like she was actually naked in front of a boy anyway. For one she kept her underwear on. Plus, there was a blanket. And Lincoln was nothing short of a little gentleman, turning his back while she changed and giving her the only blanket. The wet clothes joined the towel in a little pile off to the corner and Sophie pulled the blanket around tightly.

It was very warm now, though she wondered how much of that was actually the blankets doing.

There was an awkward cough and Lincoln glanced over at her from the corner of his eye before he slowly started to relax. Reclining against the side of their humble abode Lincoln let out what was probably meant to be a relaxed sigh and hugged his knees up to his chest.

“So.”

The word hung in the air, neither malignant nor accusatory nor even demanding. Perhaps the word here would be... expectant. Lincoln turned his head over to her and made a circle motion with his hand.

“What’s your story?”

Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat and tried her best to look coy.

“W-w-w-ould-dn’t y-you li-like t-t-t-t-

“Did something happen to your eye?”

“W-what?”

“Your eye,” Lincoln reiterated, leaning in to peer into her face. “You’re making a weird face.”

There was a mewl from somewhere in the back of her throat as Sophie became aware of two very important facts. First off: Lincoln’s hair smelt amazing. Not sure why that matters but she felt it had to be noted. Second, and it bears mentioning that she probably should’ve noticed this one sooner.

“W-where’s your sh-shirt?”

“Hmm? Oh! I took it off. I got wet out there too you know, don’t want to freeze,” Lincoln replied, giving her an easy-going grin.
Sophie felt like she was going to swoon. Granted, she didn’t really know what a swoon was, but if it meant what she thought it did then she’d probably need a bucket.

“Oh man,” Lincoln continued, “your face is all red.” The young boy reached out and time itself seemed to slow to a crawl for young Sophie as his fingers danced tantalizingly in the air for a few precious seconds before ever so gently caressing her cool, pale flesh.

“You’re burning up,” Lincoln muttered, “hope it isn’t a fever. Look, if this gets any worse I think I could knock in the back door. Or, like, throw a rock at the window. I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sophie suddenly said, her voice barely even a whisper.

“Hmm? Well, I’m not saying you did. You get caught in the rain, you get sick, that’s what-

“I d-didn’t m-mean to s-stay out so late.” The words came, unbidden and unwarranted they came without thought or reason and by the time she was aware she was even talking it was too late to remember to stutter. “I-it just ha-happened. S-sometimes I go out, m-maybe later than I sh-should, but n-never at night. I ju-just l-like to g-get out, that’s n-not a crime or a-anything.”

Lincoln considered her words and wisely decided to nod his head.

“It’s j-just sometimes I want to get out. Sometimes I like to go outside and get a little fresh air. Nothing wrong with that! Nothing wrong with a little fresh air because... because...”

“Because,” Lincoln chimed in, “sometimes it gets a bit much. Stifling, I think, like you can’t breathe.”

Sophie looked over at him like she had forgotten he was even there.

“No-nobody really g-goes to the puh-park anymore y’know. I-it’s quiet out there.”

“So, it’s the noise that gets you?”

Sophie’s laugh sounded wet and forced, more of hack than anything else and it made Lincoln wince to hear it.

“N-nah. Not the n-noise.” She leaned in a little but refused to look him in the eyes. “It’s the quiet that gets me. It’s a different kind of quiet. A loud kind of quiet. The kind of quiet like at a funeral, or at church when you don’t know what to pray for, it’s-

“Oppressive,” Lincoln said, staring straight ahead.

Outside the storm raged. The rain descended on their abode in a cacophonous wave, the wind roared around them. Somewhere off in the darkness there was a crack of thunder and then a more subtle, realer crack, like something had fallen.

“Didn’t think you knew what quiet was,” Sophie said, trying to chuckle if only to lighten the mood.

“You didn’t stutter that time.”

“S-s-sorry...”

Lincoln slowly turned over to her and she couldn’t help but flinch when she saw how blank his eyes suddenly looked. “Why tonight,” he asked, “why stay out late tonight?”

Sophie considered his words, rolling them around in her head until she was sure she had a feel for them.

“F-felt like it, I g-guess.”

It was amazing, she thought to herself, how easy it was to lie right through your teeth when you wanted to impress someone. The fact of the matter was that she had curled up under a tree to relax and next thing she knew it there was thunder and it was dark and cold.

“Like, trying to be all independent?” When Sophie nodded it didn’t matter to Lincoln that she did it entirely too quickly and he gave her a big toothy grin. “That's so cool.”

She liked the way he said that. She liked the way he was saying it about her.

“S-s-so...” Sophie said, slightly adjusting herself ever-so-subtly in Lincoln’s general direction. “W-what about you?”

The smile on his face vanished in a blink and Sophie kicked herself for it. Just when he started to think she was cool too. Typical Shyclops, always ruining everything before it even happens!

“Y-you don’t ha-have to-

“It’s not like I always sleep outside or anything,” Lincoln interrupted, turning to look at her with a sharp glint in his eyes. “They don’t do that to me. I know everyone at school says we’re poor ‘cause there’s so many of us but I have a bedroom. Got it!”

Sophie gulped and nodded, and Lincoln deflated, the aura of hostility evaporating just as quickly as it surfaced. He looked tired, she thought, and now that she thought about it didn’t he seem sort of different all week? Tired, mopey, snappish even, not as happy as she seemed to remember him usually being.

Amazing. This whole time she’d thought people ignored her but here she was doing it herself.

“They think I’m bad luck.”

Sophie blinked twice in confusion then looked over to the huddled mass next to her. She thought his words over carefully, they way he said them, the meaning behind them. After about three seconds she leaned forward and said “What?”

“They think I’m bad luck. That’s why they kicked me outside.”

Sophie nodded her head in understanding before reaching over to pat his shoulder. “That’s stupid.”

Lincoln barked out a laugh at that and sank into himself until he was but a pile on the floor. Sophie twiddled her thumbs and with all the gracefulness of a sloth started to stroke his hair in what she desperately hoped was a calming, sweet gesture.

“Is th-this a c-common thing?” The question hung in the air for a short while before Lincoln finally sighed and pulled himself together.

“Not really,” he answered. “I mean, we’re a bit superstitious in our family. Lucy reads tarot cards, Lynn has special luck rituals for her sports, Luan has rabbit’s foot, Luna likes to ‘blaze it’ before a gig, whatever that is, and Leni hasn’t stepped on a sidewalk crack in eight years.”

As Lincoln talked Sophie took in his every word with rapt attention. How many sisters did he have again? Eleven! That was ridiculous, she only had one and she could barely deal with her as it was. Just thinking about was liable to give her a panic attack.

“It all started,” Lincoln continued, “a week ago. We all went out to one of Lynn’s games. Only I didn’t really want to go but she made me and when I went you know what happened? She lost the game! And she blamed it on me! ME! Like it’s my fault or something. And then it’s all bad luck Lincoln, everyone stays away from him.”

With a sigh Lincoln started to rub his temples. Sophie didn’t say a word, politely waiting until she was sure he was finished. All the while she reflected on his story, examining the nuances of the situation, trying to glean some deeper meaning from it all. The most she got was that Lynn Loud was a sore loser.

Lincoln suddenly looked back up at Sophie and she winced when she saw tiny sparkles of water in the corners of his eyes.

“I can’t get mad though. It’s my own fault really.”

Sophie thought this over for a second before finally settling on what she felt was a fair assessment of the story. “Not really.”

Lincoln laughed at that, a dry mirthless sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Yeah, it is,” he said, in a wistful tone. “At first Lynn was the only one that really believed I was bad luck. The problem was that she left me alone. She didn’t want to wrestle me, or put me in a headlock, or throw things at me, but most of all she didn’t want me at any of her games. For the first time since ever I had some free time, so when she started to tell the other sisters about my bad luck, I helped her.”

He leaned in suddenly with a strange grin on his face, one with entirely too much teeth and a manic glint in his eyes. “It wasn’t hard, we’re all superstitious. And I was alone, I had some free time, I could just do what I wanted. But then they started avoiding me, started going out without me, making me eat my food away from the table. Next thing I know my room is sealed up, my furniture has been sold, and I’m locked out of the house.”

With a groan Lincoln curled up a ball and pulled his knees up to his head so he could hide his face away.

“It’s all my fault. I should’ve just gone to the stupid game. Should’ve just been a good brother. What the hell was I thinking!”

As he moaned to himself Sophie watched, still as a statue and just as expressive. If he were to look up at that stony face Lincoln would no doubt find it impassive, perhaps even judgmental. He wouldn’t be that far off, Sophie was judging somebody alright.

“No.”

Lincoln looked up, but Sophie wasn’t looking at him. She stared straight ahead, past the rain, trough the darkness, where the vaguest outline of the shape of a house sat like a toad in a swamp; bloated and filled with bugs. Little worms all cozy in their beds, safe and sound. While he was out here, in a storm, sleeping in a dog house.

“I d-don’t think it is.”

He did something stupid? Fine, we all make mistakes. She just made one herself. Coward that she was Sophie had never once believed the bad things that happened to her were her own fault. She wasn’t like her older sister, aside from perhaps in fashion sense, she didn’t hold truck with things like fate and luck and spirits and what-have-you.

Sophie looked over at Lincoln. She took note of his tear-stained face and she didn’t see somebody that had done something wrong. She saw a boy that wanted a little time to himself. Nobody deserved to be punished for that.

“What do you mean,” Lincoln asked, his tone laden with self-inflicted misery and just a hint of irritation. “Of course, it’s my fault! If I had just-

“Y-your puh-parents l-locked you outs-s-side.”

The words struck him as effectively as if they were bolts of lightning, red-hot shame coursed through his veins and Lincoln shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to stem the flood that poured from them.

“My parents love me,” he snarled.

Sophie scooted closer to him.

“I d-didn’t say they d-didn’t. I said they lo-locked you o-outside.”

“I should’ve known better,” he insisted, his voice desperate and pleading.

“Yes, you sh-should’ve. B-but they locked you outside.”

A plaintive keening joined the cacophony outside as Lincoln brought his hands up to his face and cried. Sophie didn’t hesitate and swaddled the sobbing boy in the blanket he had given her. The feel of his bare skin on hers sent a jolt of electricity up her spine and Sophie couldn’t help but gasp.

He was so soft, but also solid. He wasn’t a character in a book, he wasn’t a thought or a fantasy or some abstract idealization. He was real. He was a person.

She could hold him, Sophie realized.

She could hold him forever.

“Is it me,” Lincoln finally asked, after the sobbing had died down and he could stop hiccuping and gasping for air. “Am I really bad luck?”

“N-no such thing,” Sophie admonished, but not unkindly. “T-things just ha-happen. That’s whu-what my dad says.” This was more or less true, though her dad had put it more colorfully, not to mention easily. “W-why do you th-think t-that?”

Lincoln sniffled and nuzzled closer to her. “I’m no good,” he said, lamely. He looked up at her and Sophie could feel her heart break. The words would’ve been enough on their own, but nothing could compare to the tone. Hollow, like an empty vase. Vases were so easy to break, and Sophie couldn’t help but wonder just how close the boy in front of her was to cracking.

“I can’t do anything right,” he continued, the tears still streaming from his eyes. “I always mess everything up. Every time I try and do something, anything, it always goes wrong. My sisters are all so great, they’re all so talented. But me? I can’t do anything. I can’t even get a stupid trophy...”

The words tapered off and Sophie thought about what he had just said. Then she thought about what he had said earlier.

“W-what did you m-mean she m-made you?” Sophie looked down and took stock of Lincoln’s confused stare. “Your sister, Lynn. Y-you said she made you c-come to her game. How?”

Lincoln looked down. It was obvious he didn’t want to tell her, and that fact alone told Sophie everything.

“She threatened me with her bat.”

Something hot and wet twisted through Sophie’s insides like a snake as soon as the second word was out if his mouth. She had never really felt it before, passive as she was Sophie did everything in her power to quell her emotions and stay out of conflict. With a bit of a start she realized it was anger, and she thought to herself it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either.

Lincoln noticed it immediately and brought a hand up to her face. “I don’t think she would. We fight but never like that. I think she just wanted me to go to her game.”

“Does she?” Sophie’s voice was as heavy and poisonous as molten lead and Lincoln shrank back from it a bit.

“Huh?”

“Y-your games, y-your things, y-your whu-whatever’s. Does she go to them? Y-you said that you do things, t-t-t-to try and get t-trophies. D-does she go to them, d-does she cheer you on from the stands? D-do any of them?”

Lincoln opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Sophie knew she had won when he had to think it over.

“That doesn’t count,” he finally said. “They all have actual talents. Actual shows and games to go to. All those things are just me being stupid.”

Sophie shook her head and in a moment of bravado she had hitherto never before demonstrated gently cupped Lincoln’s chin and brought his face up to hers.

“That’s way more important. They need to be there to show you their support while you’re trying to find yourself. They can’t expect you to show them support if they aren’t willing to do the same. And there’s nothing wrong with needing a little alone time. They need to realize you aren’t here to validate them, you’re here for you and you do things for them because you love them. If Lynn wanted you to come to her game, she should’ve told you that. Should’ve told you it would mean a lot if you came. Should’ve talked to you.” Sophie scowled and bit her bottom lip. “Shouldn’t have called you a jinx just because she lost.”

Lincoln was at a loss for words, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as he tried to absorb Sophie’s speech. It was some time before he finally found the right words to say.

“You forgot to stutter.”

There was a yelp and Lincoln leapt so far he bonked his head on the ceiling and nearly scrambled out into the rain. Rubbing his sore side Lincoln looked down and frowned when he saw two, small, finger shaped bruises. He glanced back up and Sophie glared him down.

“D-don’t b-be d-d-dumb,” she snapped, and pinched the air. Lincoln held his hands out, a supplicant plea for mercy. The girl considered the entreaty and abated the threat.

With a snort Sophie held out the blanket and told him no uncertain terms that he was to immediately get back before he froze to death. It wasn’t until Lincoln was already moving that his brain seemed to realize something. That something being that the two of them were nearly naked. He paused for a moment and that moment was just enough for the synapses in Sophie’s mind to catch up and the two of them stared at each other, red-faced and eyes desperately trying not to meet the others.

Slowly though, the cold took its toll, and Lincoln found he had little recourse but to join the perhaps-not-so-shy lass under the blanket, though he took pains to avoid touching her bare flesh. It hurt a bit, Sophie realized. Then she scowled to herself. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to be awkward. She resolved not to make it awkward.

With a grunt Sophie reached over and latched onto Lincoln, his cold bare skin sent a shiver through her and she could feel a familiar tremor running through Lincoln too. Out of instinct he tried to move away but she was firm in her resolution and her grip and simply pulled him closer until she was practically on his lap and her head was resting on his collarbone. From there it was just a simple manner of trying to get comfortable, a few shifts in body weight. A comfy warmth spread out over Sophie then and she thought to herself that this was nice, she could do this again sometime.

“Thank you,” Lincoln whispered. His head lolled off to the side and Sophie held her breath, so she could hear his heartbeat. It was low, rhythmic, but also powerful. She looked up and took him in, his white hair, his fair skin, his buck teeth and those cute little freckles.

Sophie sucked in a lungful of air through her teeth and before she even knew what she was doing she had already leaned up and kissed his cheek. For a second his eyes fluttered open. He focused on her for just a fraction of eternity but for Sophie it lasted a lifetime. His eyes closed, and the corner of his mouth tilted up no more than a centimeter.

“Thank you,” she whispered back, and leaned her head down onto his chest.

Looks like she was spending the night. That was fine, the storm wasn’t going anywhere, and it was the weekend anyway. With any luck her parents wouldn’t check her bedroom when they got back, they never did before after all, and she could slip in tomorrow afternoon and say she went out early with a friend.

It wouldn’t be a lie. Sophie wasn’t letting this slip away. She wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines this time. Something like was too special to be afraid of. She glanced up and smiled. He was too special.

For a second a terrible thought ran through her head. It’d be easy to do something about this. It’d be so easy to tell someone. Sophie knew next to nothing about laws, but she was positive that this was breaking one of them. She considered Lincoln’s face and thought it over.

She’d do nothing. Not because she feared getting involved, but because he loved them. At the end of the day they were his family and if anything happened to that...

She couldn’t bear it if he hated her.

She wouldn’t tell anyone, but she wasn’t going to let it go. Not something like this, not anymore. He wasn’t going to say anything to them, he couldn’t, he was their brother. She could, she didn’t have a care in the world for them. She’d hang out with him, she’d go to his little spectacles, to his hobbies, to whatever he needed her to go to. She’d listen to him when he was sad, she’d laugh when he was happy, she’d point fingers and scream and rant and rage for him when he couldn’t.

For all her life Sophie had been afraid. Afraid of people, of what they could say, what they could do. Afraid to talk, afraid to live. Telling herself she was fine on the sidelines, watching everyone else be happy; all the while wishing desperately for someone to come along and be brave for her. It occurred to her then that she didn’t need somebody to be brave for her anymore. She could do that all on her own.

But he couldn't.

She’d be brave for him.

She wasn’t afraid anymore.

Outside the wind howled, the thunder roared, the rain pounded, and the lightning lit up the sky in a fearsome display. Two little figures, all huddled up in a doghouse, paid it no mind. They were safe under their blanket, afraid of nothing and content in each other’s warmth.