Between Lincoln Loud and Luna Loud as siblings.
It was a typical afternoon in the Loud house, the kind where the walls vibrated with energy and every nook brimmed with the chaos of eleven children. But amidst the familiar cacophony of sibling squabbles and the dull thumps of comic books hitting the carpeted floor, a new sound had begun to echo through the halls: the relentless strumming of a guitar and the voice of Luna Loud, chasing her dreams with a fiery passion that consumed her every moment.
Lincoln, with his white hair and ever-ready orange polo shirt, found solace in the company of his ten sisters. Yet, recently it seemed that Luna, his rock-star sister, was slipping through his fingers like strands of a broken guitar string. They used to share everything: Lincoln would help her write lyrics, and she would listen to rants about his comic book heroes. But now, those shared moments were being replaced by gigs, rehearsals, and an endless pursuit of recording contracts.
He lay sprawled across the living room couch, comics forgotten, eyes following Luna as she darted around, her mind lost in a whirlwind of melodies. She hummed to herself, nodding as if approving the silent notes playing in her head. Her usual enthusiasm was present, but her eyes were shadowed, betraying a tiredness that Luna seemed determined to ignore.
“Luna, hey! You want to check out this new comic with me? It's got this epic guitarist superhero!” Lincoln tried to pierce the bubble of Luna's focus as he waved the comic in the air. Usually, she would snatch the offer up in a heartbeat, but today, she barely glanced in his direction.
“Sorry, bro,” Luna said, her voice distant and distracted. “Gotta work on this riff, you know? Big recording session this weekend. Maybe later, Linc.”
Lincoln’s shoulders slumped as he watched Luna’s attention immediately swerve back to her beloved guitar, the strings firing off riffs that filled their home with a music that did not seem to hold the joy it once had.
The next hours trickled by, with the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the Loud residence. Meanwhile, the strums and beats of Luna’s practice session didn’t falter, their intensity only growing fiercer with the fading light.
It was during one of Lincoln's many glances that Luna's fingers faltered, the guitar issuing a discordant twang. She swayed—a barely noticeable falter in her steps. Lincoln was on his feet without thought, moving closer to his sister, a frown etched on his youthful face.
“You okay, Luna?” he asked, a fretful note creeping into his voice.
“Never better, dude. Just a little slip-up. No biggie,” she responded, mustering a weak grin and ruffling Lincoln's hair. But it was in that forced smile and the slight tremble of her hand that Lincoln read the truth. She was anything but okay.
That night, as the sounds of the Loud house fell into a rare and peaceful lull, the echoes of Luna's voice and guitar strums faded, leaving Lincoln lying awake in his room, surrounded by silence. Silent save for the quiet ticking of his alarm clock, and the growing worry for his sister that beat louder in his chest than any drum solo Luna had ever played.