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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)	By : DoctorYnot Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 19619 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
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Hey there everyone. Well, it's me again with another update. First thing's first: I'd really like to apologize for how irregular I am. I understand it must be incredibly annoying not knowing when there's an update coming...There's nothing I can really say to explain myself. I can at least promise that in every single chapter, I work my hardest to make sure it's the best it can be. Still, I'd like to thank everyone that's sticking around anyway, and extend some particularly special thanks to everyone that was kind enough to leave a review whether on this, Make It Wit Chu or Party Animal. I'm not going to respond individually to the reviews from other stories here since I don't know that there's a lot of crossover, but I promise you that they're deeply appreciated and I get a lot of happiness out of them.

I'm not allowed too much space for author's notes, so I put the individual responses to your reviews here: https://pastebin.com/Ggma7H3s

Before posting the story, I wanted to say something. It's always been my belief that The Loud House fandom is the most absurdly talented fanwork scene ever, or at least for any western piece of media. To wit, it's been my experience that you literally cannot scroll through one single page on ff net or browse any twenty random pics on pixiv without coming across something legitimately terrific. There's so many crazy killers whether you're talking about artists or writers, I've been around a lot of fandoms over the course of my life and I can say I've really never seen anything like it. I guess it speaks to how good the show is that it draws so many great artists. I feel humbled to be a part of it, and while I updated, well, I just wanted to take the opportunity to highlight two authors that have been on my mind lately and hopefully share them with anyone that doesn't know about them yet.

The first one I wanted to mention is Trillhouse. To be perfectly blunt, if you have any regard whatsoever for this story, you should read his, especially the More Than A Sister series. I'm certain you'll enjoy it just as much, very possibly more. Trillhouse has such a grasp for these characters that they feel like they're right out of the show, and at the same time his prose is so clean, elegant and confident that every line he writes is a joy to read. The journey through every chapter is hypnotizingly smooth, there's never a bump in characterization or unrealistic quirk in the siblings' interactions or behavior to break the suspension of disbelief and drag you back to earth to remind you you're only reading a story. Rather, you're carried in perfectly steady hands the entire way through; you can't help but get lost in the tale because of that. The spell is almost never broken. I think this is one of the most difficult things to achieve as a writer so I deeply respect how much grace he has. With the prose flowing so smoothly and his characters coming across so endearing and authentic-that's another thing by the way, his characters have genuine, visceral humanity to them. Their longing, their fears and dreams, there's so many layers there, so much honest to God heart to everything. Plus the patience and discipline he has, he's a writer that understands how to wait and water and build up a moment over multiple chapters and sometimes tens of thousands of words, working the reader into a frenzy before finally giving them what they want at the perfect time in a climax of emotional catharsis, one only made more powerful by the steady, unflinching lead up it received so that when it happens it's so satisfying it feels like it should have some kind of choral accompaniment. He doesn't let himself get swept up by the heat of the moment or any narrative impulsiveness and blow things off early which, believe me, can be incredibly hard to resist; rather he keeps a cool head and makes sure to arrange for things so he can lay it in as hard as he can when he pulls the trigger. He also knows not to string the reader along until it becomes frustrating, rather he simply grasps what the hinge points are in a story and how to make things orbit around them to animate everything else effectively. In the end you love and root for his characters so hard, and the underlying tone of his stories are so hopeful, that when what you've been wanting to happen happens it's so masterfully timed and composed that you find it hard not to jump up from your seat. All the flashy techniques aside, the foundation of his work, what I feel is the fundamental root that everything else emanates from, is love. Optimism. Trillhouse's stories are, in a word, a positive experience for the person reading them. They give a feeling like dipping your brain into a warm bath. They're just right.
I know I've gone on for a while, and just his fiction would be enough to set him apart, but apart from everything I just said, he's also an incredibly accomplished artist. You can find his art on pixiv under the same name. I was struck dumb when I discovered this. It's ridiculous. I know a handful of writers that could perhaps be said to be in his league, and I know some great artists too, but to be able to do both things at such a high level...He's honestly a wonder. In the entire fandom, Trillhouse is probably the person whose raw natural talent I envy the most.

My next recommendation is a bit more unusual, so I hope you'll bear with me. This person is a spanish language Loud House writer based out of ff net you can find here: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5875115/Jolio He goes by the pen name Jolio, and I'm not exaggerating when I say he's authored, bar none, the most soulful, haunting fanfiction I've ever read. I'll be honest since we all have an interest in common here and admit a couple of chapters have actually, legitimately made me cry, and it's not like I'm particularly the type...As far as I'm concerned he's one of the top two spanish language Loud House writers, and if someone wanted to take it further and claim he's one of the top two Loud House writers or even the best period, I wouldn't argue. I consider him a true master, one of the greatest fanfiction authors ever. I'll say it as simply and straightforwardly as I can: Jolio awes me. Every single chapter of every single story of his I've read has left me quiet and pensative for a solid hour afterwards. That's not hyperbole either, if anything I'm understating it. His style defies simple description, his tales rather have a...the quality they possess is so mesmerizing and ethereal I can't even conjure the proper word for it, I'm not even sure one exists. I hope you'll forgive the clumsy analogy, I'm admittedly a little flustered here from words failing me, but the best thing I can compare it to is the feeling immedately after emerging from a debilitating illness. That moment when it finally breaks and you start feeling better, but at the same you're still hazy and lightheaded, that sort of sultry, dreamlike quality, like a beautiful nightmare or a pleasant fever dream. There's a real sense of oppression in these stories, sure, like nothing I've ever read before, fanfiction or not, I mean you can REALLY feel the weight of it pressing you down into the dirt, the gloomy twilight radiates out from the page. But by contrast, and I'm sure this is a contrast that's deliberate on his part, his character's souls are so beautiful, and this beauty so deftly highlighted by his gorgeous prose, that when they manage to survive the thorns and the inequities, their misunderstandings of each other and the unfeeling coldness of the world around them and reach a happy ending together despite the circumstances, it's breathtakingly life-affirming. Triumphant, like dawn breaking over an abandoned battlefield. The searing starkness of it, that duality of desolation and love, that atmosphere that's at once smothering and comforting and leaves you hanging on every word. Heck, just trying to put into words the sensations and feelings his prose ellicits has got me floundering around in these author's notes like some obsessive fanboy of his, which, to be truthful, I am. I could talk about Jolio's work literally all day. I'm kicking myself because I don't think I was truly able to transmit what makes it so unforgettable here, but even if I had, ultimately I still think it's something you really have to read for yourselves to understand. I'm sure I'll never be able to articulate it properly. The juxtaposition of darkness and light, the way hope triumphs in a dreary world...Nobody writes like Jolio. Every line and emotion has so much poetry to it, every narrative peak and valley arranged so perfectly. Most sublime of all are his characters, which I should have dwelt on longer, but, again, just describing them is running up to the limit of my ability; more than almost any other writer, each and every one of them feels like a complex, psychologically complete human being, which is what makes reading their tribulations and watching them fall in love so damn intense. It's really something special. I can't recommend his Palido Monstruo de Medianoche series enough and Un Corazon Roto is equally outstanding. If you even half-understand spanish and like this show, you owe it to yourself to check him out. He is incredible. It's my wish everyone could get to read his work, and his fics genuinely make me feel blessed I can.

Well, that's all I wanted to say. I don't know if the following update stacks up against these guys' stuff, but I can promise you that I at least worked really hard on it. Anyway, in the end, I just hope you get the same happiness reading my stories as I get from reading theirs. Without further ado, here's the next chapter of Fashion! Thanks for sticking with me!

>As dawn broke, the young man found himself still stubbornly clinging to sleep. Perhaps it was his subconscious doing it, his infamously agile mind warning him that the moment he finally opened his eyes he would have no choice but to confront a world he no longer had any experience navigating. That he'd be forced to face the consequences of the decisions he'd made and had allowed his big sister to make the night before. The adrenaline of the previous evening was long spent, what little alcohol he'd consumed also totally out of his system by then. Lincoln's body likely sensed that the only thing waiting for him on the other side of his eyelids was reality; complicated, messy reality, lit unmercifully by the cold light of morning. His consciousness hovered, then, on that border between wakefulness and dreams, too anxious to face the day by choice.
>In the end it was the birds incessantly chirping outside the window that finally roused him from rest and forced Lincoln to stir. As he awoke, he couldn't help but instinctively take a deep, bracing breath, only for his lungs to fill with the warm scent of shampooed hair.
>Lincoln blinked, still processing just where he was. For a moment all the young man could see was the nest of blonde curls his nose rested upon, then all at once he felt the soft, feminine figure pressed against his chest. He was allowed the untroubled respite of wondering who it could it could be for only a moment.
>Leni.
>His arms were wrapped around her, something he figured he'd done in his sleep, and after only a moment's hesitation he instinctively pulled her in a bit tighter, as though to make sure he wasn't imagining her.
>There was a brief, tense moment as the events of the previous day washed over him. The gala. The fight. The confession. Their lovemaking.
>When it happened, he reflexively tensed up, as if anticipating a physical blow. He couldn't help but brace for the horror, the panic and self-loathing he was certain were coming, ready to send him into a tailspin, to frantically lunge for any way to fix things, to make everything go back to the way it'd been before last night. That was the way everything he thought he knew about himself told him he was going to feel. Told him he SHOULD feel.
>So he waited, and waited, and waited some more for the crush. For his own mind to beat him down and chastise him for what he'd done the way he knew Leni, his sweet, innocent sister, never would.
>It was to Linclon's profound surprise that that feeling never arrived. Even now, all he felt was tired. Tired and happy.
>The young man released a long, relieved breath, grateful for the small mercy the universe had blessed him with; that he'd been allowed to take a break from himself, if only for that moment. It was only then that he could at last truly savor the sensation of Leni resting peacefully against him with no other thoughts or worries squatting over his mind. Warmth radiated from her, her skin almost hot enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite. What misgivings still managed to find faint purchase in his heart quieted as he stared at her peaceful expression, how sublimely beautiful she looked right at that instant.
>Lincoln couldn't help how his hand drifted up his sister's arm. He rubbed slow, gentle circles over her bare shoulder with his thumb, enjoying how she instinctively pressed closer to him. He buried his nose against the crown of her head again, drawing another deep breath. Even after everything they'd done last night, she still somehow smelled...perfect. Like goose down and damp dryer sheets. Like sunflowers and good, clean skin. The scent was comforting and reassuring and reminded him how sweet life could be, generating a sudden burst of emotion in him that he almost couldn't control. It was Leni's smell. So familiar, yet now also so exciting and new.
>Lincoln gave a hard swallow to calm himself as his heart suddenly began to thump. He took one last breath of her before finally pulling away, carefully disentangling himself from the girl while doing his best not to wake her up. When he finally managed to sit up on the bed he noticed her face suddenly darken, her previously serene brow knitting together. Leni's fingers began to twitch nervously, and she reached out in attempt to recapture the beloved teddy bear that had escaped from her grasp.
>He had to force himself not to chuckle at her plaintive, needy mewling. Lincoln reached over to pull the blankets up to the blonde's neck, hoping the warmth would fool her into thinking he was still there, before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. She stilled at the contact, smacking her lips together briefly, before her expression cleared into a happy smile and she drifted back to sleep.
>Lincoln gave a long sigh, moving to the edge of the bed and pressing his feet into the carpet, the plush bristles feeling icy from the airconditioning. He used the chill to help dispel the last traces of sleep and help him get his bearings. He couldn't resist, though, turning back to give another look at the woman he'd finally come to terms with as being the love of his life. It'd been Leni all along.
>The silk sheets hung off her form just so, artfully highlighting every lovely contour and curve of her body. She looked like some sort of masterpiece to be hung in a fancy gallery, 'Goddess in Repose', and the sight nearly stole his breath away all over again. She was perfection. The perfect woman. Lincoln shut his eyes and ground the heel of his palm against his temple.
>It all still seemed so unbelievable. What they'd done. What she'd admitted to him. What he'd admitted to her. Even thinking back on everything now with a clearer head and sober, no matter how hard he tried he still found he couldn't place the precise moment when their feelings first shifted from those of dutiful, loving siblings into what the two shared now. He couldn't figure out when they'd first set out on that forbidden path from which return was impossible.
>Maybe they'd always been on it, he finally allowed, to some degree or another. Maybe it had always been just a matter of time. Even if he'd actually wanted to go back to the way things were before, even if he really thought it might have been what was best for Leni, he knew he'd just be kidding himself. There was no putting the genie back into the bottle.
>And what was more, he DIDN'T want to go back. That was what was most disconcerting to him. He was scared about their future, of course, and anxious. There was a creeping dread like the fairy tale could end at any moment and dump them back into cruel, unforgiving reality, where their relationship was hideously unacceptable and everyone they cared about might well abandon them if the truth ever got out. He knew that all of that was possible, and he knew the normal thing to feel would have been stress and regret.
>But even with all that, even with the sea of troubles they were now both adrift in, Lincoln still couldn't bring himself to think of what they'd done as a mistake.
>He still remembered the look she'd given him the night before. How deeply, truly content she was. In his heart, he realized what he wanted most in this world was for Leni to keep looking at him that way forever.

>The young man was at last broken from his sentimental musing when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his smartphone suddenly vibrate, letting him know he had received a text. His instinct was to ignore it, but the name of the sender he saw flashing at the bottom of the screen made his eyes widen.
>'Mary'.
>Lincoln reached out his hand, hesitated, then finally picked up the phone. It was a long, tense moment before his thumb pressed on the notification to see what it was she wanted. The message consisted of one line.
>'Why are you on PMZed?'
>PMZed was a Canadian paparazzi outfit that had pushed out its American competitors by virtue of their sheer single-minded ruthlessness and determination to secure a scoop. Lincoln recognized the name but didn't understand what it was his ex-girlfriend was asking. It was only when he was wondering just what she was talking about and whether he'd been the recipient of a miss-text that he finally noticed the blue hyperlink attached to the bottom of Mary's message which, it seemed, would serve as her only explanation. Lincoln tapped it with a fingertip and the screen jumped to life, taking him to the gossip rag's front page. The headline he saw instantly made the anxious bile he'd been pacifying all morning violently surge up his esophagus. Horror forked through him, thorned and jagged, blistering his nerves like an electric nightmare.

LENI LOUD'S SECRET LOVER

>The notice was printed in large, red font, blinking like the lights on a police car. Beneath it sat a picture of an angry-looking Lincoln dragging his inebriated sister out of last night's venue by the arm.
>The young man almost jumped out of the bed, his throat clenching with a strangled cry. He turned back to make sure Leni hadn't woken up from being jostled before bolting to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Pushing the top down on the toilet and sitting upon it, Lincoln hunched over the phone screen to pore over the accompanying article, hoping it was some sort of terrible mistake. How could it even be possible they'd gotten discovered so quickly?

>[As I'm sure any PMZed faithful are already aware] it began, [up and coming fashion designer Leni Loud just had her debut show at Manhattan's storied Markham building. It's the topic on everyone's mouth at the moment, a veritable flood of photoshopped faux-candid sharebait pics of the event getting uploaded all over social media even as we speak. But just what really went on during the ultra-posh, invite-only affair which has formally signaled the beginning of this year's gala season? Let's just say the clothes weren't the only thing raising eyebrows. PMZed brings you the scoop!

For those who've been living under a rock or just buy off the rack, incoming refresher: Leni Loud, the mysterious blonde bombshell whose dresses have become of late a not unusual sight in New York's rather more exclusive soirees and shindigs (in sharp contrast to the seamstress herself, who remains a recluse) was famously discovered by legendary label head Bongiorno Valenti just a few years ago during his abortive attempts to establish a design house in the city of Detroit. Hailing from, of all places, the blink-and-you'll-miss-it-small town of Royal Woods, madame Loud burst into the scene in a big way last summer with her 'Playful Angel' line, promoted heavily by Prisma and worn by some of Bongiorno's select favorites on galas and red carpets both in the United States and Europe. It was only last evening's event, however, that for the first time saw her share the runway with no other designer. Even for a talented fledgling, being tapped for a show of such magnitude so quickly would seem almost inconceivable, but by all reports the fast-tracked production was pushed for entirely by Mr. Valenti who, it's said, has taken quite the personal interest in the trajectory of Leni Loud's career and seemed hopeful it would serve as an appropriately ostentatious 'formal' introduction to the world of haute couture.

It would appear the legendary Fifth Avenue icon bet correctly, and the somewhat tepid streak Prisma had been experiencing of late is well and truly broken. It's rare indeed for a designer's first event to draw the sort of crowd witnessed last night, and this reporter can only attribute the turnout to both Mssr. Valenti's immense personal influence in this city and a relative dearth of good social gathering opportunities during the month of May. The conflux of circumstances served to pull the veritable stars down from the sky and deposit them all, in their conspicuous glory, at the main room of the Markham. Several of New York's most in-demand luminaries were in attendance, among them no one less than Emily Hawthorne herself, currently in Manhattan filming the sequel to her 2024 hit 'North of Northampton'. The event has generated incredible buzz for Mme. Loud, with many of those present gushing at length about the beauty of her creations and the fresh and innovative presentation of the show. The most energetic praise was reserved for the last dress of the evening, worn by the beautiful diva herself in a surprise walk that stunned and delighted all present.

Alright, press release mode over. It would hardly make the front page on a celeb news site if the event had gone perfectly, would it? Now that you're caught up, we can tell you about the scandal of the evening, which is what we wager you really clicked on this headline to read about! Well, dear PMZed faithful, here comes the dirt. The aforementioned Miss Hawthrone, we're told, spent most of the night in the company of the gentleman pictured above. His actual identity is still unclear, but various rumors suggest he's either the new star of Miramax's upcoming installment of the 'No Way Out' series, the soon-to-be-announced challenger for Pablo Morales' WBO Unified Middleweight Title, and/or the prince of Monaco's illegitimate son. Regardless of the truth of any of it, what's certain is he and Leni Loud appear to share quite the familiarity with each other, given that he was reportedly allowed backstage and directly into the seamstress' dressing room with the starlet still on his arm.

This is where it gets good. Unlike the details of his identity, what followed afterwards is in much less dispute, the terrible clamor having been heard clearly by numerous attending: the fiery diva immediately and loudly excoriated her beau for his repeated infidelities in several very choice words before demanding he take her then and there to prove he was true. Yowza! Apparently this isn't the first time Lincoln's (her fella's name, if the designer's enraged shouts are to be trusted) eye has wandered. Her fury was such that the situation became apparently impossible to defuse and the picture above was snapped while her erstwhile lover dragged her, we can only assume, towards a more discrete place to have their argument. It's difficult to say for sure, however, as when our reporter attempted to follow them out he was unlawfully detained by the venue's security. Rest assured, PMZed readers, legal recourse towards this most flagrant violation of the freedom of the press is being pursued as we speak.

In the end, however, the hubbub only served to cap off a show that's sure to go down as legendary in the circles of New York high fashion. As for the facts on Leni Loud's mysterious lover, our publication is sparing no expense in its investigation. Make sure to tune your alerts to get the details as they arrive!]

>Lincoln at last finished up with the 'journalism', if anyone could possibly be generous enough to call it that, on what had transpired last night. He was speechless for a moment, setting the telephone down to try and get his thoughts in order, before he pulled it back up to read the article once more, like he might catch something he missed on a second pass or otherwise be illuminated somehow.
>When all he'd seen was the headline Lincoln had been brutally seized by the fear his relationship with Leni had been discovered, to the point the how if it seemed irrelevant, only figuring out some way to fix it was important. It was only now, upon actually thinking things over with a cooler head, that he realized it was impossible the tabloids could have known anything yet. He and his sister hadn't even actually become lovers until long after they'd retired for the evening and were far away from any cameras or reporters.
>When at last he was able to bring himself to actually accept how thin on facts the so-called expose actually was, relief flooded through him, crisp and sharp, and he released a grateful sigh so vast it practically made his body deflate. He took the time to steady his racing heart, simply basking in the revelation that nothing was wrong, enjoying it, like a glass of cool water on a sweltering day.
>It was only well after he'd calmed down that he couldn't help but remember what his job was and that the story, light on facts or not, was still out there, misleading more and more people by the minute. It was his responsibility to protect Leni, and he couldn't imagine this kind of press was a good thing for a young designer coming off her very first show. They'd made her sound like some kind of Marylin Monroe-style lunatic. She was just upset! The thing about her 'demanding he take her'? C'mon. Not to mention all that nonsense about Emily Hawthorne stealing him away. The whole article was, in its entirety, drivel, and he couldn't help but feel a headache coming on as he considered what to do about it. Lincoln quickly decided this was exactly the sort of problem that needed to be be taken care of immediately, or at least as soon as possible, before it could snowball into something even worse. Leni never read stuff like PMZed and few people not addicted to celebrity gossip took the website seriously to begin with, but he still bristled at lies being posted about his sister on the internet. He hadn't even bothered to look at the comments section under the article, he knew the things people would be saying there would just piss him off.
>Lincoln took a quick, calming breath to keep from losing his cool again before turning to sort through his contact list, finding the number he wanted and pressing 'call'. He was mindful enough that he usually tried not to reach out to the person he was contacting on his own initiative unless it was related to Leni's work, but this felt like an emergency.
>The phone rang only once before there was an answer.
>"Yes?" The voice on the other end asked, crisp and alert despite the early hour.
>"Mr. Valenti? It's Lincoln Loud."

>Indeed, it seemed absurd that such a powerful and famous name as Bongiorno Valenti's could be found on the contact list of such a cheap phone, but the young man had been given a direct line to Leni's boss almost as soon as he started helping her with her work. The truth was, his sister tended to get...distracted from things like texts and missed calls when she was focused on creating. When it became clear to Bongiorno that Lincoln had taken it upon himself to become Leni's assistant and aid with exactly those sorts of issues, the non-creative side of things that in the past had given her so much trouble, the old gentleman had asked for his information so he could have an alternative way of reaching his protege when she got too lost in her work and forgot to mind the world around her. After a long enough time of this, nowadays if a deadline changed or a date needed to be cleared, Leni's boss usually tried his phone before hers. The label head didn't seem to mind the arrangement too much, simply chalking it up as another one of the young woman's endearing quirks and rapidly taking a shine to Lincoln himself for being such a dutiful brother.
>"The young mister Loud! So good to hear from you!" His tone immediately lightened, sounding cheerful and pleased. They young man heard a muffled sound and knew Valenti had just told whoever he was with at that moment to take a break; he immediately felt pressure not to waste the labelhead's time.
>Lincoln had always been in awe at the vitality Bongiorno, a man in his seventies, possessed. He never would have dared call at the present hour if he hadn't known the old Italian was certain to already be in his office, infamous as he was for working from first light until most of his employees had left for the day. Lincoln felt a bit self-conscious then at how groggy he still felt from just waking up when he was only in his mid-twenties; after a quick clear of his throat, he instinctively found himself trying to match Bongiorno's energy.
>"Thank you, Mr. Valenti! It's good to hear from you too! I'm sorry to call you so early-" He was quickly cut off, the chatter emerging from his phone's speaker carrying an almost scolding tone.
>"Early? For God's sake, it's an hour past dawn! Don't tell me you were out carrying on last night and only just got back?" Though he was trying to sound at least theatrically upset, there was a hint of teasing accusation there in his voice.
>"N-no! No, sir!" Lincoln almost broke into a cold sweat. Though Bongiorno wasn't officially his boss, he still treated him with enormous deference to avoid making things difficult for Leni. "Actually, that's kind of what I called to talk to you about. I just read this report on the gala and-"
>"The gala!" Valenti again cut him off, booming with pleasant cheer. Lincoln winced and held a hand over the receiver, afraid it would wake his sister. He wanted her to get as much rest as she could before she had to face the day, especially with it looking like it was going to be an awkward one. "What a spectacle! What a triumph! I tell you, my boy, I've never seen anyone's first show go so well! Your sister really cracked the whip on those union gangsters! Why, I remember in my first New York show-"
>"Mr. Valenti-" Lincoln tactfully tried to interrupt him, but the old man carried on regardless.
>"You would not BELIEVE how many people needed to be paid off to avoid causing a problem in those days. I'm stunned how well Leni was able to handle their sort. For me, the electricians, the waiters, the caterers, even the valets: they all always had some kind of grievance they were ready to strike over. Goodness, let alone my first show, my first ten years in the business I needed to manage so many little revolutionaries I felt like the head of Fiat Automobile! The difference is I didn't have a cyanide pill hidden in any of my teeth, though to be honest-" The man was in rare spirits. He was usually far more reserved; it was obvious he'd taken Leni's achievement as a great personal success, and it had made him talkative and nostalgic. Lincoln had always thanked the universe that the person his big sister had gone into business with had such affection for her. Then again, who could stop themselves from developing a soft spot for someone like Leni? He suspected Bongiorno regarded her as something of a granddaughter. Bongiorno Valenti was the old world, superstitious type, and discovering a talent like hers in a place as forgotten as Royal Woods, Michigan probably had him chalking up their meeting to some sort of powerful destiny.
>"Excuse me, Mr. Vale-" Nonetheless, Lincoln tried again, firm on the fact that what he'd read needed to be brought up.
>"Well, I guess it doesn't matter! The important thing is what a success the evening was. You know, it made its way to me that you helped your sister set everything up. I've always admired what an attentive brother you are, my boy. You're one of a kind, at least among the fellows your age I've met. Now, when I was a young man, such dutifulness was more common. We held family as the most important thing. THE most important thing. Nowadays..." His voice took on a tone of distaste and his carefully cultivated American Midland accent faltered, "People would kick their own mothers off'a lifeboat so there's more room for the luggage. A sister? Less than nothing. Dimenticalo!" He complained.
>"Mr. Valenti!" Lincoln finally shouted.
>The man was known to have worked very hard when he was younger to make his speech neutral once he came to the United States, as he had once confessed during an interview that he detested the stereotype of the vulgar 'mustache pete' that wore their heritage like a gaudy accessory wherever they went. When Italian started coming out midsentence, Lincoln realized the old designer was getting legitimately agitated. He knew he had to cut him off right then and there before Bongiorno really got on a roll or he'd never be able to bring up what it was he'd called for in the first place.
>"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, my boy, I'm sorry!" He sounded it, too. Valenti's speech slowly leveled out again to a more even timbre, though it now carried a hint of embarassment. "When you get to be my age sometimes the memories, well, they can get a hold of you...Regardless, thank you for bearing with a bilious old nostalgic. Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"
>Lincoln cleared his throat. "It's really no trouble at all, Mr. Valenti. I'd love to hear those stories sometime, actually!" He assured him, trying to come off as conciliatory as he could. Someone Bongiorno's age deserved to be shown some respect. "But right now, it's just...Well, someone sent me an article. After reading it, I thought some of the stuff in it could be a problem for Leni. I know you have more experience with this kind of thing than I do."
>"Hmm?" Lincoln could almost picture him raising one grey, owl-like eyebrow. "You mean the nonsense from the PMZed circus troupe?"
>Lincoln almost recoiled in surprise, switching the ear he held his phone to. Had the old fox known about it from the start? "Y-Yes!"
>The sound of chuckling on the other end of the line was deep and rich, and the inadvertent condescension it transmitted suddenly made the young man feel very small. "Lincoln, please. All good shows have some kind of phony scandal attached to them. The hoi polloi like to read about famous artists being insane drunks or sex perverts. It spurs their imagination, and dross peddlers like PMZed cater to that need. Why, I'd be disappointed if all the press was saying was that the gala went well!" He harrumphed. "It would mean it wasn't memorable, you see. Reporting that those attending enjoyed their evening was fine, but weaving in a fanciful tale of how our furious diva hurled a champagne flute at her brother for seducing a young starlet on the night of her big show? That's the kind of thing myths are made of."
>Lincoln was flabbergasted. "B-but I didn't seduce anybody! And they're saying me and Leni are lo-" His tongue fumbled the word when he tried to disclose their actual relationship, inadvertently or not, to someone else for the first time, "Lovers!"
>There was a pause, and then,"...Well, aren't you?" The question was so matter of fact Lincoln felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water down the back of his shirt. "To be honest, Lincoln, the way you two behave around each other I...Well, I suppose I just assumed." The old man cleared his throat self-consciously, as though embarassed by his presumptuousness.
>The line was quiet for a long time. At Bongiorno's words his mind had boomed like a lightning strike as, in just seconds, he frenziedly attempted to analyze every single interaction he and Leni had had that Bongiorno could have been privy to. Any inadvertent intimacy or tenderness between them he might have overheard during a business call when the young man didn't know Leni was on the phone with him, any secret his innocent sister could have confided in her boss once Lincoln had started working as her assistant. Anything. He was frantic to discover out just how in the Hell Valenti had gotten that impression. Had the way he and Leni felt really always been so obvious to everybody but him? And if so, there was the even bigger problem: what did it mean for them now that they'd actually acted upon those feelings? Would the fact their love for one another went beyond that of simply brother and sister become even clearer to anyone that cared to give the two more than a cursory glance?
>Lincoln had gone from relatively steady and sure in his purpose when he'd made the call to now feeling as though he was getting getting swallowed up by a horrible cyclone, and the young man was suddenly deeply afraid to even leave their hotel room for fear of meeting anyone and being seen through.
>Before he could gather the courage to ask for the old man to explain precisely what he meant, laughter began to sound on the other end of the line, first slow and controlled but soon loud and hearty. Valenti seemed to have sensed his immense stress, and couldn't help but bellow uproariously because of it. Lincoln had no choice but to sit there and quietly stew while his sister's boss tried to get a hold of himself, the young man feeling how his head and face got hotter and hotter as peals of mirth erupted from his phone.
>Bongiorno was really 'on' today, Lincoln thought with grit teeth. Still, he couldn't help but feel immense relief at the fact the Italian's horrifying intuition was, in fact, only a joke. At last he appeared to calm down.
>"My boy, my boy..." He repeated breathlessly, almost like a chant, "How I wish they made more like you. You cannot sense grift whatsoever! It's as though you stepped out of that old funny book from when I was a child...What was it called...'Goofus and Gallant'?"
>"Mr. Valenti," Lincoln groaned, still trying to pull himself back together after nearly having come unwound, "I really think we need to be serious about this! Shouldn't Prisma at least call the website to lodge some sort of complaint? People are going to get the wrong idea!"
>"What time was the article posted?" He asked with a sigh, realizing the young man was genuinely upset and did not intend to let it go.
>Lincoln blinked, checking the date on the screen of his phone. "Uhh...Four in the morning."
>"Then they already know." He answered simply, appearing to lose a bit of interest in the conversation. "Just because they are lowlife muckrakers does not mean you should underestimate the breadth of their contacts. They are not idiots, Lincoln, they only write as if they were. Even that is deliberate." Valenti gave a yawn, apparently a bit depleted from all the fun he'd enjoyed at the expense of his protege's little brother.
>"Then..." He asked tentatively.
>"Additional clarification is surely being edited in as we speak, they're just waiting until the end of the day before they update so they can get as much mileage as they can from the salacious article as-is. In any case, I've arranged for Leni to do some interviews at our label this afternoon. If she feels as strongly about it as you do," His words seemed to be hinting at something, though Lincoln couldn't quite grasp what, "She can clarify the whole business then. For now, young man, why not simply accept it for the amusing misunderstanding it is, hmm?"
>Lincoln wet his lips with his tongue, seeming to mull it over. "...If you think that's what's best, Mr. Valenti."
>"I do." He replied with finality. "But now Lincoln, there is one last thing I'd like to talk to you about. In fact, I'm glad you called. It's a matter of some importance."
>"With me, Mr. Valenti?" He asked, surprised.
>"Yes." Bongiorno answered. "It's about this...thing with you and the young Miss Hawthorne. Recent events have led me to suspect PMZed did not contrive that, at least, out of thin air."
>"Oh." Lincoln laughed a bit nervously. "Well, me and Leni did argue in front of her, but Leni had had a bit too much to drink at the time. Honestly, I don't think-"
>"That's not what I want to talk about." Lincoln was surprised to find all the previous cheer had drained from Bongiorno's voice, the old Italian turning far more serious. "Lincoln, my boy, I am aware that fame can be...alluring. Intoxicating, even. Those who come into contact with someone of status are often star-struck into acting in a manner they ordinarily would not." While he agreed, he didn't see what any of what Valenti was saying had to do with him. He didn't recall behaving badly the night before, at least with Emily. "There's hardly any shame in that. And Miss Hawthorne, well, she is a very beautiful young lady."
>Lincoln blinked. Where was he going with this? There was a stretch of uncomfortable of silence.
>"I would hope that this romance of yours would not distract you from your sister's needs." Valenti finally cut through to the heart of the matter when it became clear the young man would fail to understand what he was trying to say if he continued being delicate.
>Lincoln recoiled. "M-mister Valenti, all that stuff was nonsense. They made it all up. Me and Emily just sat next to each other and she wanted to meet Leni. She hadn't wanted to go to the show in the first place and was trying to keep herself entertained, that's all." Lincoln shook his head, bemused. "I mean seriously, come on....Me and Emily Hawthorne?" He laughed.
>"...Right." Bongiorno finally answered, conspicuously not laughing. "You know, Lincoln, I find your forthright character endearing. Truly, I do. But I sometimes worry you fail to grasp the subtleties of certain matters, especially when it relates to the whimsical sex."
>"W-what do you mean...?" He asked, suddenly feeling vaguely insulted.
>The only thing that came from the other end of the line was a long, tired sigh. "Nothing, my boy. Nothing. I just hope you realize how vital you are to your sister. As I said before, I've always felt there's nothing more important than family." Lincoln heard the sound of Bongiorno taking a drink of something, an empty glass clacking as it was set down against wood. "I know you wouldn't let Leni down."
>Goosebumps flared up the young man's arms as he became increasingly uncomfortable over what his sister's boss was driving at, whatever it was. "...I won't," He finally assured him, though the specifics of what he was promising felt unclear, even to him.
>"Good." A bit of cheer went back into Valenti's voice. "I'm glad you understand. As artists go, Leni is the more sensitive type. The things in her life must be just so before she can create." Bongiorno gave a frank assessment of his protege's needs. "But enough of that. For now, just make sure to be here with your sister by three. She needs to attend to the press. The REAL press."
>"Yeah." Lincoln answered tersely. "Sure."
>"I'll give my congratulations to Leni in person. For now, let's let our young diva sleep, hmm?" It seemed clear the old man felt the conversation was now over.
>"Whatever you say, Mr. Valenti." He agreed.
>Click. Lincoln turned to the screen and saw that the call had ended. He gave a troubled sigh and scratched his head, lowering the phone as he slouched over the toilet. He was still dwelling on what the old man had said about letting Leni down.

>Before he even got the chance to collect himself, though, Lincoln instead nearly jumped as his phone suddenly went off in his hand, the unexpected racket almost causing him to drop it. He'd forgotten how loud the ringer was set to after not getting any calls for a while. Valenti possibly checking in was something he needed to be especially conscious of, he'd decided before the trip, and to avoid accidentally missing it if he tried to get in touch, he'd tabbed the volume to max. He regretted it now.
>The young man fumbled with the fragile plastic gadget, turning it over twice to figure out who the heck was calling, sure it wasn't his sister's boss, all while the irritating pop song Lola had selected as his ringtone kept blaring and served to grind on his already fragile nerves. He hated the damn thing but she'd guilted him into not changing it to a different one when she'd first set it a couple of years ago, saying she'd bought it for him with her own money and hoped that it'd make it so that every time his phone rang, he'd think about 'his adorable little sister'. Well, mission accomplished on that front. It was a bargain, too; only a one-time payment of ninety nine cents meant Lola got to aggravate Lincoln every day. He finally gave up and answered the call blind just to keep the noise from waking Leni.
>"Hmm?" The person on the other end of the line seemed surprised he'd picked up. "O-oh! Ahem! Hello! Is this, uhmm, Lincoln Loud...?" She queried carefully. The young man blinked, pulling the phone away from his face to stare at the screen. Unknown number. Bongiorno's words had knocked him off balance enough that he wasn't quite present enough to immediately place the person's voice, familiar though it felt. It took him a moment to realize where he'd heard it before, and upon doing so he couldn't help but sit up straighter, as though he'd just received a guest he was underdressed for.
>"...Emily?" He asked. "Emily Hawthorne." The young man then declared, as though stating it so would make it easier to believe. He didn't notice how, because of his shock, his voice turned stern, as if he suspected it to be a prank call.
>Lincoln couldn't have known how in that instant he suddenly sounded just like her father, addressing her coldly by her full name like he did when she'd been naughty. Emily tried not to let it make her squirm as the memories of the night came rushing back all at once. Lincoln and his sister had quite a deep impression on the young starlet, one that had now only become fixed even more firmly in her mind after getting immediately chastened by him upon calling.
>"Yeah." She answered, sounding slightly strained.
>Lincoln was momentarily struck dumb. At night, with an incredible fashion show in a gorgeous venue as the setting, dressed to the nines in Leni's magic tux and with a bit of champagne to loosen him up, it almost somehow seemed vaguely plausible someone like him could have exchanged a handful of words with someone like Emily Hawthorne. Even then, he still hadn't fully internalized it had actually happened.
>Now, though? At six thirty in the morning, bare-assed, preoccupied and anxious about other things, and attending to her phone call perched on a closed toilet seat? Lincoln couldn't get past the irreality of it to even act like the stuttering fan he'd ordinarily be.
>"What...is this regarding?" He at last asked robotically after a long pause. It was the best he could come up with; Lincoln was still trying to process just how events had led up to him getting rung up by a world famous actress while he'd been huddling in his sister's hotel bathroom.
>Emily had been sweating the tense silence up until then, and that that was the first thing he'd decided to ask almost made her hiss. It seemed absurd he could be so dismissive of her, but there it was. Did she really deserve to be treated this way? 'What is this regarding?' She wasn't some shifty telemarketer cold-calling him!
>"I just wanted to..." The starlet composed herself, trying to turn on her famous charm and get the initiative back. "Apologize. I was kind of expecting to get your voicemail when I called." It was true. The whole reason she'd tried his phone so early was precisely so she could avoid speaking to Lincoln again right away; she'd meant to leave her contact information with a request he call her back, then once she had a bit of time to prepare the conversation could happen on her terms. He'd foiled her again, and Emily was now forced to work without a script. "I suppose you've seen the front page of PMZed by now?" Though the question was phrased as though the conclusion was foregone, she couldn't help the hope that seeped into her voice when she asked it. If he hadn't, she'd immediately find some way to damage control the situation and place herself in a better position.
>"I have." Lincoln answered simply.
>"...R-right." Emily murmured sheepishly, deflating. "W-well, like I said, I just wanted to apologize. I'm aware it was my, ahem, mischief that lead to the misunderstanding."
>"'Mischief'?" Lincoln asked blankly. While his mind took its time catching up to the present reality of his situation, he subconsciously latched on to the unusual word, repeating it back to her as though he believed he might have misheard just to buy a little more time to get his thoughts in order.
>Emily, though, interpreted him seizing on her wordchoice as his cooly demanding she take full responsibility for her mistake.
>"...I was being an idiot." She at last admitted reluctantly, feeling like a scolded child that was being made to state exactly what she did wrong and loathing how excited it made her.
>"Oh...No." Lincoln shook his head, finally feeling a bit more himself from how frank Emily was being and naturally disliking it when someone beat themselves up like she was. He sensed the girl's distress and comforted her instinctively. "Not at all. It's those PMZed people's fault for publishing such a dumb article. I actually had a lot of fun last night." It surprised even him how easily the words came after how badly he'd frozen up earlier in the call. He supposed it was all the experience from comforting his moody, temperamental sisters. "I'm sorry if it didn't seem like it, I just..." He rubbed one of his eyes with his thumb and sighed, "Well, I guess you could say I had a lot on my mind."
>Emily recoiled. With the way he'd been treating her so far, his response was beyond her expectations. Again, events aligned themselves for Lincoln to be misunderstood: he couldn't have known it then, but after forcing her to humble herself like that, showing Emily a bit of kindness once she did left her squirming on his hook even more than she already had been. She instantly rushed to please him, attempted to demonstrate she wasn't just some foolish little girl, despite the fact that's exactly what he and his sister kept making her feel like.
>"Right!" She almost shouted. "I mean, no! I mean..." The actress shut her eyes, mortified. "You were...great. You were charming! I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you when I came to the show last night..." Oh bother, what was she saying!? "I don't mean not famous, just to be clear! I mean real! You were really...real!" Emily finally finished lamely, groaning and wishing the ground would swallow her up. She was thankful she'd found a quiet, deserted corner of the movie set she was on before calling so no one could watch watch her stammer and fumble over her words. It was only a scant comfort on the whole, but the young woman knew how to cherish the small victories in big defeats. She wondered what people would think if they saw Emily Hawthorne, the vivacious young movie star that was always so glib and quick in interviews, in the state she was in now.
>Lincoln couldn't help but be amused, despite how off-balance he still felt, and that relaxed him a bit. "Thanks. I think you're really real too," he teased. She was showing so much vulnerability that, whether it was an act or not, it almost felt like she WANTED him to poke a bit of fun, and a lifetime of being trussed up by willful women resulted in him instinctively responding to those kinds of openings almost as a type of proactive self-defense.
>"Oh be quiet." The starlet complained, but couldn't supress the grin that almost split her face or the blush that glowed on her cheeks. "Anyway, I told my publicist to set the record straight as soon as she could, but that's just made those vultures think it's real and that I'm trying to bury it because I'm afraid of how it'll look that I tried to steal someone's fiance." She finished with a roll of her eyes, but there was a trace of real dejection in her voice hidden under the exasperation.
>"You couldn't help it." Lincoln chuckled. "Didn't you read what they said? I seduced you."
>The young man had been trying to console her, expecting his dumb joke to at least get a snicker if only from the sheer absurdity of the mental image of such a thing, but to his surprise the line just went quiet. It made him a bit nervous, though just when he was about to apologize for overstepping his boundaries, Emily finally answered.
>"Yes." She murmured. "I suppose you did." Her tone carried a note of defeat, but her voice itself was low and breathy.
>To his surprise, Lincoln could feel how his face suddenly flushed. Is this what it meant to be starstruck, he distantly wondered? Even with the most beautiful woman in the world asleep in the next room, he still ended up feeling a bit flustered for a moment just from the way Emily spoke. Lincoln thought he finally understood what Bongiorno had been warning him about. Fame really was powerful. He decided it was probably best not to get overly familiar like that in the future.
>"Well..." Lincoln let his voice drift off, unsure how to proceed.
>"Right!" Emily suddenly seemed to snap out of her daze. "Well, like I said, I felt just rotten about everything that's happened and was hoping you'd let me make it up to you both." She took a deep, preemptive breath before continuing, as though she didn't want to allow trivial concerns like the need to breathe break the momentum of her hastily-prepared pitch. "You see, I'm in town shooting a film, and in about a week we'll be on location for a few days in the atrium at the Empire State building. I've seen the set they built and it's really amazing. The view's incredible, too. Honestly, the whole sequence there will probably the best bit in the movie." She mixed the truth with a bit of lies and exaggeration, trying to entice him, "It's just...Well, I thought maybe you two would like to come and hang out on set for a few hours? I promise I'll show you a good time!" In fact, Emily had wanted to extend an offer to have dinner somewhere, but she knew her celebrity would turn the evening into an ugly debacle of paparazzi and pushy fans. This was the best way she could figure to get some time with Leni and Lincoln Loud that didn't involve her showing up at their hotel room like a stalker.
>She was already practically halfway there anyway, she grumbled to herself. No need to lean into it.
>"North of Northampton 2?" Lincoln asked, remembering he'd read something to that effect in the PMZed article.
>"Yes!" Emily answered brightly. "You...know my work?" In her experience everyone knew her work, but in this case she still felt moved to ask. Like the evening before, her voice betrayed her. She'd meant the question to sound casual, practically disinterested. Instead it had the obvious timbre of hope to it. The girl held her hand over the receiver and cursed softly, but didn't dare take her ear off the speaker.
>"Of course! Me and Leni really liked the first one. We watch it together all the time." Lincoln, oblivious to her inner turmoil, answered honestly.
>"Y-you do?" She blinked. She mouthed a few words, trying to figure out what to say, before smirking. For the first time since she'd met Lincoln Loud it felt like he'd finally given her some hand instead of constantly having his way with her. When he'd mentioned he was a fan of hers the previous night, somewhere inside she'd assumed he'd simply said so in an attempt to ease the tension in the room which reigned at the time. She hadn't truly believed it. "Well you could have fooled me!" Emily chastised him, and her lovely, musical laughter bubbled up from the speaker on his phone.
>The young man smiled, sounding a bit sheepish himself. "Like I said, I had a lot on my mind." He suddenly thought of something and hurried to explain. "So did Leni, obviously! I'm really sorry you had to see that! I hope you didn't take what she said too seriously. It...It was my fault, honestly. I'd been insensitive, and someone probably offered her a drink she was too polite to turn down and it messed with her medication." Lincoln realized what he was saying, instantly jumping on top of the grenade whose pin he realized he'd just inadvertently pulled. "Medication which she's only on temporarily, just so you know!" He added hastily, "I hope you can understand how much pressure she was under at the time. It was her first show!" The excuses flew out of his mouth like they were fighting each other over which got to be said first, Lincoln desperate to find one that would resonate with the young actress and get her to forget the awkward encounter she'd had with Leni. What she'd heard wasn't utterly damning, at least not in a place where people understood the champagne was flowing, but he still didn't want her to repeat what had been said to any of her friends.
>"Calm down, 'little brother'." Emily chuckled good naturedly, pleased to see the taciturn mystery man she'd followed like a puppy last night was human after all, at least when it came to his sister. Watching him expose his soft underbelly like that was endearing. She was an only child herself. Listening to how he tried to protect Leni, it made her feel like maybe she'd missed out. "Do you know how nervous I was before my first premiere? I know the sort of stuff Moët makes you say once you've had enough of it. No worries."
>Lincoln released a long, relieved sigh. "Thank you. I'm sure Leni appreciates you being cool about it, too. She's watched Northampton as many times as I have. There was a lot going on last night but...Well, trust me, she loves you." He assured her happily.
>Emily's heart gave a sudden thump in her chest, and she almost gasped, surprised. "...She does, does she?" The actress finally probed after a long moment, imagining a scene in her head. People had told her they 'loved' her all the time: they 'loved' her in this, they 'loved' her in that, they 'loved' her in general. She'd gotten used to it by then, but when Lincoln said it, somehow it felt like the first time, and sincere. The idea of that gorgeous, standoffish woman and handsome, charming man nestling together to watch a performance of hers for pleasure, and more than once at that, gave her a secret thrill. "And what about you?" Her performer's ego meant she couldn't help but go for seconds, the rush almost leaving her swinging her feet in her chair with pleased delight.
>"Well..." Lincoln scratched the back of his neck, embarassed, "I'm a really big fan of yours, like I said." He'd never admit Leni had been on to something when she kept teasing him over having a crush back then.
>Emily was a bit miffed he hadn't told her he loved her too, but decided what she'd managed to get out of him was a decent start. Baby steps. Mustangs weren't broken in a day, after all. "Just so you know, the sequel is shaping up to be even better than the original film." The actress boasted. Well, THAT certainly wasn't true. This one was about Ophelia sailing to America to find her long-lost half-sister. Total dross, but the studios weren't willing to make anything that didn't have franchise or spinoff potential nowadays. Still, a little white lie never hurt anybody, especially if it got her two fascinating new friends to visit. "You'll stop by, won't you?" She asked hopefully.
>"Of course!" Lincoln answered. "Wait 'till I tell Leni. She'll flip! I'd pass her the phone but, well, she's sleeping right now. If you saw how she looked you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to wake her up either." He sighed, "After all the craziness last night, I think it's better if she gets a bit more rest."
>"You're..." Emily paused, her voice taking on an urgent tone, "You're sleeping in the same room?" For some reason the mental image of it made the muscles underneath her navel clench, her legs rubbing together unconsciously. She sat up a bit in her chair.
>Lincoln briefly panicked, terrified that he'd gotten so starstruck he'd accidentally given him and his sister away. He raced for an excuse. "Y-yeah, there was a mistake on the hotel's end. I'm taking the couch and Leni gets the bed. The place is all booked up, nothing we could do." He laughed nervously. "The suite we're in is pretty fancy, too. I was kind of hoping the couch might be a pull-out, but no such luck." Lincoln joked, trying to distract her from the matter at hand.
>"Ahh." The starlet couldn't help but be a bit disappointed once the details were explained, the fancifully erotic picture she'd constructed in her head disappearing in a puff of smoke. God, it was a good thing he didn't know she was a pervert. The more pixie-ish, troublemaking part of her nudged her to make a joke right then, 'No pulling out when you're sleeping with your sister, huh?' but she knew she wasn't close enough to them yet and the PMZed incident wasn't long enough behind them that humor of that sort was likely to be appreciated. She bit her tongue.
>Lincoln, desperate to change the subject, asked the question that had been on his mind for some time now. "How'd you get my number, anyway?"
>"Oh!" She sat up a bit straighter, embarassed. "I, umm, I had my publicist call Bongiorno. I thought maybe I could get him to give me your sister's. I was surprised he had yours."
>"And he just gave it to you?" Lincoln asked, feeling inexplicably betrayed, though he realized almost instantly how silly he was being.
>"Weeeeeell..." She let the words hang, clearly a bit embarassed. She knew she'd have been annoyed if someone had shared her personal number with a stranger, and was thus appropriately ashamed of the ploy that had earned her his. "He kind of made me promise I'd wear one of your sister's dresses to the Oscars before he would."
>Lincoln was speechless. After a few awkward seconds passed, all he could bring himself to do was laugh, and Emily, relieved at the break in tension, joined him. Well, if it was for Leni's career, he supposed he didn't mind his contact information getting traded like some commodity, especially if it was to someone like Emily Hawthorne.
>"He's such a hustler." Lincoln groused good humoredly. "I guess you'll have to stop by before we leave so she can get your measurements."
>Her laughter instantly died away as suddenly Emily was run through with the implication of what Lincoln said. The fantasy sprang up in her mind, unbidden but irresistible.
>The blonde bombshell she'd met last night was looming over her shy, naked form, indifferently pressing a cold tape measure to different parts of her body. Perhaps at one point her hand might linger on the inside of one of her thighs, aquamarine fingernails contrasting sharply against her pale british skin, and tug her legs apart. "Wider, Emily." She'd command. The starlet would tremble as Leni's fingers began trailing upwards, knees going weak. Nearby would sit her brother, watching them impassively. "Silly girl. She just won't stand still. Won't you help me, Lincoln?" Leni would ask. He'd rise, his expression not changing, and approach. Emily would shrink away only to feel her back press against the seamstress' generous bosom. Leni's hands would grab her wrists to restrain her and she'd feel her breath against her neck, followed by a surprisingly tender kiss on her bare shoulder. "Just hold still, sweetie." She'd say. All at once Lincoln would be in front of her, his hands caressing her hips, his lean but undeniably masculine body pushed against hers. Emily would be trapped between the two with no escape as the blonde suddenly started nibbling on her earlobe and her brother pressed his lips against her jugular. "That's a good girl." He'd reassure her with a throaty, lusty murmur as she shivered. "You make us both so proud."
>"Emily...?" A seemingly distant voice prodded. The actress blinked, slowly resurfacing from the depths of her daydream. "Emily, are you still there?" An oblivious Lincoln asked.
>The girl took a hard gulp, pressing her legs together hard and cursing at the way her heart fluttered.
>"Yeah." She squeezed the words out in a tense squeak. "Yeah, I guess I will."
>She couldn't deal with it anymore. If she stayed on the line any longer Emily was certain she was going to make an even bigger fool of herself. The siblings had already gotten the better of her too many times as it was, if she let herself get mesmerized by the young man over the phone too there'd really be no facing them. "Listen Lincoln, it's almost the magic hour. We've got to start filming." She began to make her excuses, "I-I'm sorry for calling you so early, by the way. I just really wanted to get this resolved. I've been a nervous mess ever since I saw the article."
>"Oh. Yeah, of course. Me too. Want to get it resolved, I mean." He paused. "I'll, umm, tell Leni you called."
>"Great." Emily bit her lip, trying to shake off the residual heat she was still feeling. "You really will come see me, won't you?" She couldn't help but ask again, a bit needily. "You'll both come."
>"We wouldn't miss it." Lincoln smiled.
>The starlet released a long, relieved sigh. "Thank you, Lincoln. You're terribly sweet." The expectation in her voice made him feel a bit shy. "Well, I'll leave it at that then. See you soon!"
>Emily unceremoniously ended the call before he could answer, as though she didn't trust herself not to screw things up if they kept talking. She shut her eyes before taking a long, deep breath to compose herself.
>Well, things hadn't developed quite how she'd expected, but she supposed they could have gone much worse. As Emily thought about the upcoming date she'd made with the charming young man from the night before and his equally intriguing sister, she couldn't help the goofy grin that appeared on her face. She wondered if she had the time to indulge in her earlier fantasy a bit, coincidentally glancing over her shoulder as she put her phone back into her purse.
>It was only then that she finally noticed the presence of her personal assistant, who in actuality had been standing nearby for at least the last ten minutes. She'd been sent to fetch her by a producer who wished to consult with Emily on the warddrobe for an upcoming scene, found her while she was busy on the phone and had no choice but to wait. When the girl realized Emily was now staring at her despite her best attempts at appearing inconspicuous by stooping over the craft services table, she froze, trying to pretend she hadn't accidentally listened to her boss's entire phonecall. There was a long, awkward silence where neither said anything.
>The actress glowered wordlessly, her frustration reaching the boiling point. She was still cranky she'd revved herself up like that without being able to do anything about it and bitter about her increasily apparent, even to herself, mommy and daddy issues. And now, on top of everything else, the spectacle she'd just made of herself was likely to become gossip-fodder on the set of her own movie. The starlet radiated the cold menace of a pharaoh deciding whether a lowly servant was to live or die, and the poor young woman couldn't help but shiver helplessly under her glare. Emily very nearly snapped at her right then, but at last took another deep breath and mentally counted to ten. "...Get me some Evian." She finally growled. The mousy PA nodded gratefully and scurried away.

>Lincoln looked at the 'call ended' notification. After a moment he finally clicked on Add Contact, typing in the associated name with his thumbs.
>'Emily Hawthorne'
>When he was finished he couldn't help but stare at the screen for a while before hitting accept. Just like that, the contact information of a famous hollywood actress was suddenly in his telephone. He'd just personally promised a visit to a girl whose movie he and his sister had watched only a few days before their trip. The feeling of disconnect from reality was intense. New York was proving itself once again to be a strange, disconcerting place.
>At last he got up from the toilet, placing his phone next to the soap dish before turning on the faucet and splashing some water on his face. He'd finally made some headway with the PMZed issue, and the fact that Emily was in their corner was especially reassuring. A weight had been taken off his mind. He dried off with a towel and pushed open the bathroom door gingerly, afraid that his phone ringing and the ensuing conversation might have woken Leni, but fortunately she'd been too tuckered out from the exhaustion of the night before for it to disturb her. Lincoln smiled and rejoined his sister on their bed.
>'Their bed'. He was surprised to find himself already thinking about things that way, but as he watched Leni's soft, peaceful smile, he found that before he'd realized it the young man had already internalized their new state of affairs. Leni Loud, his sister, was now Leni Loud, his lover. Somehow, it didn't feel as crazy as it sounded. It instead felt natural, like an inevitable evolution of their relationship many years in the making. Lincoln took his place next to her, watching as she murmured sleepily when she felt the mattress shift under the new weight, and pacified her by stroking her silken, golden hair. The blonde sighed happily.
>He'd always thought stuff like being so in love with someone you enjoyed watching them sleep was just Hollywood nonsense. Now, though, as he lay next to her, he thought maybe he could see the charm. Lincoln said nothing, his fingers smoothly tangling and untangling in Leni's hair as she purred happily, resolving himself to simply enjoy the serenity of that quiet, stolen moment. The instant of peace they'd snatched for themselves amid the chaos of their lives.
>After a while the girl at last began to stir, seeming to sense the gaze upon her. Leni frowned, fidgeting a bit, which sent one of her blonde locks tumbling over her nose. Lincoln smiled and reached out, tucking it softly back behind her ear. The fashionista slowly blinked her eyes open.
>"...Lincoln?" She asked groggily, the face peering at her finally taking shape through the morning haze. His sister stared up at him blankly, a puzzled smile tugging at her lips; she was pleased yet confused about why he was in her bed. Her eyes widened as all at once she noticed he wasn't wearing any clothes. The girl quickly sat up and then, when she felt the sheets slip from her bare skin, at last took stock of herself.
>At first she was utterly stunned by her own nakedness, but then, gradually, realization at last seemed to dawn over the girl.
>Her reaction after that was surprising. There was no shock, none of the delighted exuberance Lincoln had been bracing for. In fact, Leni said nothing. He had been expecting to be faced with that classic Leni effusiveness after their first night together; his sister was usually quick to express joy and this was, he thought, a happy occasion. But instead she just slowly tucked her chin against her chest, her hair falling over her eyes and hiding her expression, and pulled her knees close.
>"Leni?" He asked, a bit bemused, thinking she was just being bashful. His expression froze when he at last noticed her shoulders shaking and he drew closer with more urgency, brushing the hair away from her face.
>What he saw made him freeze.
>Leni's lower lip trembled. Her eyes were shut tight. The young woman just sat there, stiff as a statue, and wouldn't even acknowledge his touch.
>Fear instantly lanced through him like cracks over ice, like fissures through his mind. The feeling was nauseating and intense. "Leni?" The most he could bring himself to do was whisper, "What's wrong?"
>Suddenly, a deeply horrifying possibility flashed through his mind. His ears buzzed and his pupils narrowed to pinpricks when he thought of it. The sweet honeymoon fantasy of two young lovers he thought they'd been sharing disintegrated, and with the illusion stripped away all that was really left was a naked man, his unresponsive sister, and the blood from her recently torn hymen still drying into the linen bedsheets. The gutwrenching notion assailed him, again and again, refusing to let him ignore it no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was impossible. Deep down, he knew it wasn't.
>What if...What if after all that, Leni really had just been drunk like he'd first thought?
>Had he raped his sister?
>The young man could feel himself turning hysterical as he noticed the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. There was an intense impulse he only barely resisted to hurl himself out the window then and there. All the deep-rooted fears and anxieties he'd defied the night before to cross that line with Leni returned with a vengeance, howling at him mercilessly, insisting he'd done something unforgivable to the person who trusted him the most. He was only ripped from that vortex of scorching self-loathing and his increasingly intrusive thoughts of hurting himself when at last she half-sobbed, half-mumbled something, and he focused on it desperately, as though it was his only hope. Lincoln couldn't make out what the words were, they were too quiet and too broken, but he knew she was saying the same thing, over and over. "Leni, I can't hear you." He begged, frantic, terrified. "Please, talk to me. You have to talk to me." His own eyes were starting to feel hot, his whole world falling down around him. Just when he felt like he was about to lose his mind, his sister raised her eyes to look at him. She weakly forced out four soft, fragile words between her whimpers.
>"It wasn't a dream."
>Lincoln's throat was painfully dry. She stared up at him, and as tears streamed down her face, she blessed him with a rapturous smile.
>It was peaceful. Serene. It was the kind of smile parents gave children at their weddings. It was the kind of smile babies made when they were born.
>"It wasn't a dream." She repeated, and then a laugh bubbled through her fitful sobs like light breaking over the day. "Oh my God, Lincoln..."
>The young man moved closer and his sister practically lunged at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pressing her face into his chest. He could feel her hot tears wet his skin as she chanted the words beneath her breath like a prayer to God, a thanks to heaven. All he could do was bear silent witness to the immensity of her happiness. The young man held her tight as his sister wailed.
>"It wasn't a dream." She continued to insist through choked gasps, "It wasn't a dream."
>Just as quickly as it had come, the horrible nightmare his mind had conjured vanished in the face of his sister's boundless love. The black ice in his veins melted and his body unclenched enough he could at last take one long, hitching breath as all the fear drifted away like smoke on the wind. At that moment, he knew Leni had just rescued him.
>He resisted the crazed urge he had to brokenly thank her, tell her she'd saved his life, instead simply allowing the young woman to cry herself out in his arms. That small gesture was, shamefully, all he felt he could do to repay her. Lincoln limited himself to simply holding her tight, making sure to stop Leni whenever she tried to pull away in embarassment and muffle her weeping with her hands instead of her little brother's chest. He sat with her patiently, gratefully, giving shushing her softly every time her bawling grew pitched enough to make her body shudder, rubbing her back, kissing the crown of her head, whispering that everything was going to be okay. That he was right there. That he wasn't going to disappear.
>Soon enough, she slowly started kissing him back. He'd kiss her forehead and she'd respond by kissing his chest between sobs. Her moist, trembling lips felt ticklish against his skin. He stroked her hair and moved lower, pulling her body up against his, kissing her eyebrow even as she tried to hide her face from him. She pulled away shyly, just a bit, hiccuping, then kissed him on the neck. Lincoln smiled. She was so sweet. So truly, utterly innocent.
>At last, he cupped her jaw softly, forcing Leni to look at him. Her cheeks were red and tearstained and she tried to pull his hand off her chin, embarassed to be seen in her current state, so she could hide her face against his chest again. Lincoln didn't let her. Soon enough she stopped struggling, the spasms of emotion wracking her body easing just a bit as her little brother stared into her eyes. The sight of his gentle smile soothed her overwhelmed heart. Finally, when most of her long-held sorrow seemed, at last, to be exorcised, the young man took the opportunity to lean in and press his lips to hers.
>Leni went still, her body stiffening like porcelain in his hands. After a long, pregnant moment, she melted into his embrace. His sister wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face against hers, her tongue tangling against his frantically, worshipfully. In that kiss, Lincoln felt he finally understood her feelings.
>Her joy.
>Her sorrow.
>Her disbelief.
>Her hope.
>She was an angel, trembling in his arms. And he knew then that he was hers and she was his, forever.
>Soon, for the second time in their lives, Leni and Lincoln Loud made love.
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Fashion (Turn To The Left!)