Chapter Text
It was dawn, and Lisa, still lying in bed, had been awake for just over half an hour. Although the bedroom curtains were closed, the faint autumn sunlight was beginning to filter through, coloring a thin strip of the ceiling above her with a soft orange hue.
She had woken up from a dream about Lincoln, and though she tried, she couldn't get back to sleep. That dream was like many others she had had since she began teaching at the University of Michigan. She still lived with her parents, and Lincoln used his summer vacations to come home and see her and her sisters... or so he said. The truth was that Lincoln spent most of those vacations alone with her.
The Lisa in the dream was always curled up in her big brother's strong arms, gazing at him with fascination, just as the Lisa in the real world did. The only difference between the two was that in the dream, she dared to kiss him... and he kissed her back.
She woke up just as they were sharing a passionate kiss, her stomach churning and her heart pounding in her chest as if trying to escape through her throat.
Although Lisa was fully aware of the undeniable romantic attraction she felt for her only brother, she couldn't help feeling guilty. How could she not feel bad? Not only did she know it was wrong to harbor romantic feelings for a member of her immediate family, but she was also aware that if Lincoln found out about her feelings, he would undoubtedly reject her and cut off all contact with her.
Yes, Lisa knew she was in an extremely complicated situation. "Between a rock and a hard place," Lucy, her sister with the most extravagant use of language, would say. However, there was nothing she could do about it... she was in love with Lincoln.
Frustrated, she finally got out of bed. She crossed the narrow hallway connecting her room to the tiny bathroom of the tiny apartment and took a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed and had everything she needed to teach her classes for the day. Even though her cell phone showed that she still had an hour and a half before the start of her workday, she rushed out of her building –intended for exchange students, special scholarship beneficiaries, and teachers– and headed to the campus cafeteria, where she knew she would find Lincoln.
Lincoln was 23 years old and in his last semester of his economics degree; Lisa, 16, was just about to finish her first year as a novice teacher of applied physics. As a child, Lincoln dreamed of becoming a comic book artist, but as he grew up and matured, he realized how unlikely that future was, so he ended up changing course, choosing –to everyone's surprise–a career completely removed from artistic creativity, but one that assured him economic stability.
Every morning they met in the campus cafeteria, where he worked as a cook. When business was slow, they’d steal a few minutes to talk about the day ahead before parting ways and slipping back into their routines.
Lisa's day were pretty simple. She taught three classes –the minimum requirement– and devoted the rest of her time on her personal research into quantum field theory.
Lincoln’s schedule, by contrast, was relentless. He’d wake up at five every morning and crisscrossed the campus, taking any job anyone was willing to offer. On the rare days when Lisa woke up earlier than usual, she only had to look out the window to spot him –already in motion, already busy.
By seven o'clock, when breakfast service began, Lincoln was already in the cafeteria. There he made his father proud, serving not-so-horrible food until nine. Then he headed to the campus gym, where –thanks to what he had learned from Lynn– he helped freshmen exercise and get in shape. Only after he was done with that, he’d start attending his own classes.
Lincoln had always been a slim guy, but college had reshaped him. What little body fat he once had vanished, replaced by lean muscle. Lisa noticed it first in the gym, watching him from outside how easily he lifted weights, and later in the cafeteria as he hoisted massive boxes of supplies with casual ease –boxes she knew she couldn’t have budged an inch.
And those were only his regular jobs. On any given day, Lincoln might work as a plumber, or as a music teacher, or an occasional model, or assistant at the theater club. Really, any activity that generated him an income and helped him secure a good future. Sometimes he even helped out in Lisa’s lab, hauling equipment, assembling experiments, or acting as a test subject.
On those days, Lisa often found herself leaving early. Not because she wanted to see him less, but because watching him work his muscles, sweat, and move tirelessly from task to task left her utterly unable to focus. Her admiration was distracting, and his boundless energy drained her in a way no equation ever could.
She couldn’t help marveling at his inexhaustible vitality.
Nor could she stop worrying.
At times it seemed to her that he was running on borrowed time, that one he might simply collapse, killed by a heart attack or a caffeine overdose.
On a normal day –that is, when the lab director wasn't using Lincoln as a pack mule– they both meet again around seven in the evening, and talk briefly in the little park in the center of campus. By then she had finished teaching her classes for the day and used what little time she was allowed in the physics lab to advance her research.
It was the last thing Lisa did before returning to her small apartment, heating up a frozen dinner, and going to sleep... so she could dream about Lincoln.
The aroma drifting from the cafeteria –and the cold metallic thud of the door brushing against her face– snapped Lisa out of her daydreams and dragged her back to reality... and to the cold of the morning.
The campus’ cafeteria smelled, as always, of toast and coffee. According to the clock on her cell phone, it was already past 7:30. It was late for fog to still be clinging the soccer fields, but the low buildings on the east wing were still partially veiled by it.
Lisa pushed the door open. Her scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, her hair still damp from her quick shower, and her eyes apathetic but alert. Anyone glancing at her would have noticed that the young professor looked worn by a sleepless night. And although she been dealing with an incipient problem of insomnia, her face always had been the same, always with a cold expression.
Inside, the cafeteria was filled with the familiar bustle and crowded heat common to most campus’ buildings. Here, however, the students' chatter blended with soft background music, and the smell of crowded rooms was almost masked by the scent of cinnamon.
Despite the hour, only a few tables remained free. The rest were occupied by students hunched over notebooks and open laptops, murmuring with each other over assignments.
For Lisa, the cafeteria was something of a secret oasis. It allowed her not only to speak for a few minutes with the only man she was truly interested in, but also to eat breakfast without enduring the oppressive atmosphere of the faculty dining hall –along with the disapproving glances and probing questions from her colleagues
Paying little attention to the students around her, she approached the counter.
All her attention –and longing immediately– fixed on him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with strong arms and hands that looked capable of carrying anything. Lincoln Loud... her brother.
Of the gray and dull cafeteria uniform, her brother was only wearing the apron. Underneath, he was wearing an orange sweater that, by some miracle of textile physics, was both tight and loose at the same time over his body. Despite having his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a coffee stain in the center of his apron, in Lisa's eyes, he looked like the protagonist of one of those poorly written romance novels, the kind she used to steal from her sister Lucy to read in secret until a few years ago.
Although she was sure Lincoln had already prepared more than a hundred orders in the little more than half an hour since breakfast service began, Lisa couldn't help but feel even more admiration for her brother. His smile remained warm and patient, just as motivated and friendly as if he had just started his shift.
His hands moved quickly and precisely, and his voice –deep but always gentle– wove the steady flow of orders into something rhythmic, like a soothing mantra.
Lisa waited impassively for her turn; her gaze fixed consciously on the menu so she wouldn’t look at the man of her dreams.
She knew by heart what she would order.
And she also knew that it wouldn’t truly satisfy her.
When her turn finally came, she approached with a shy smile and rested her hands on the dark wooden counter.
"Good morning, Lis," Lincoln greeted her before she could speak.
It wasn't the first time he had greeted her that way, yet it still surprised her that he always seemed to take a little extra time with her than with everyone else.
"Hello," she replied, unsure whether to look into his blue eyes or at his strong hands.
"Let me guess, the usual?"
Lisa hesitated for a moment.
‘The usual’ was a plain salad and an American coffee from the machine: the bare minimum slowed by the strict diet she had just imposed on herself. She wasn't fat, but her Body Mass Index was slightly above what she considered ideal.
Lisa had always organized her life with strict routine. Anything unrelated to science had to be followed like a mechanical routine: emotionless and precise.
Breakfast was no exception.
"Today...” she began, “a bowl of Greek yogurt with chia seeds, walnuts, and banana slices. No honey. And a black coffee... no sugar... please..."
A mischievous smile tugged at Lincoln’s lips.
"I knew you'd pick the most boring option on the menu,"
"The healthiest option," Lisa replied, trying –and failing– to suppress both a smile and the faint blush warming her face.
She looked down. Her stomach was empty, but she also knew that Lincoln had never dated a fat girl before.
Lincoln looked at her a second longer than usual before nodding. Then he gestured toward one of his assistants.
Mariana –a skinny redhead who was enrolled in Lisa's first class of the day– stepped forward to enter the order into the system. Her fingers danced across the keyboard before she nodded.
"All set, teach. That'll be $10."
Lisa paid while Lincoln turned to prepare her breakfast. Without waiting to hear whatever Mariana clearly wanted to say, she went to sit at one of the empty tables by the windows at the back.
Around her, everything continued as usual. Students talked quietly, trays clattered, Lincoln’s coffee machine hissed. Yet in Lisa’s mind, an explosion of absurd, hurtful, and unimportant questions refused to subside.
She knew Lincoln was the kind of man who drew attention without even trying. He was kind, intelligent, absurdly handsome. The other teachers adored him, the girls left him exaggerated tips, and that the boys respected him as if he were the captain of a championship team... a team that didn't actually exist...
And Mariana...
The red-haired vixen could hardly stop ogling him, laughing at his every comment. From her table, with the little discretion that comes from long familiarity with loneliness, Lisa watched that scene again and again, her chest tightening with jealousy.
A few minutes later Mariana approached carrying the food on a tray.
Like Lincoln, she wore only the cafeteria apron. Beneath it, she had on an outfit that reflected the same bold taste –and lack of modesty– she often displayed in class. They knew each other, though only by sight.
"Here you go, teach," Mariana said, setting the tray down in front of her.
Lisa frowned.
What sat before her was not the yogurt bowl she had ordered. Instead, there was a thick slice of crisp toast topped with avocado, slices of cherry tomato, fresh basil, and a fried egg that still released faint wisps of steam. Beside it rested a hot latte, a swirl of cinnamon drawn carefully into the foam.
"I think... this isn't what I ordered..." Lisa murmured, glancing up.
Mariana smiled, as if she had been waiting for that exact reaction.
"I know. Lincoln told me to change your order. 'Something to make her day start a little easier,' he said. We assumed you wouldn't mind."
Lisa blinked.
For a moment her thoughts dissolved into a stupid, strange haze. The jealousy, the petty insecurities –all of it simply disappeared.
"Lincoln changed my order?" she repeated slowly.
Mariana nodded again, her smile widening.
Lisa past her slutty student and toward the counter. Lincoln pretended to be busy cleaning the coffee machine, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a small smile.
Only then did Lisa lower her gaze to her plate again.
The egg gave off a slight steam that spoke directly to her, an intense warmth rose from the food toward her face. A tight knot formed in her chest. It wasn't hunger.
It was something else.
A reaction to the unasked-kindness, to the unexpected gesture.
"No... I don’t mind," Lisa said, feeling the warmth of the coffee reach her chest even before she tasted it. "Thank you."
Mariana shrugged, her smile growing even wider.
"Lincoln’s... a nice guy. He's always looking out for everyone.” She paused, glancing briefly toward the counter. “But with you, even more so. Must be nice having him as a brother."
With that, she turned and walked away to clean a table that had just been cleared.
Lisa was left alone.
And for the first time in a long while, not a single thought crossed her privileged mind.
She picked up her fork and carefully broke the egg yolk. It immediately spilled over the avocado like a warm blanket.
She took the first bite.
The familiar taste made her close her eyes.
She wasn’t sure if it was the food itself, or the fact that he had prepared it for her—quietly, without saying a word –that made her feel this way.
As if something small and bright had just been lit inside her.
And that same warmth stayed with her for most of the day.
-o-
The classroom, which was finally beginning to empty, smelled of chalk, crowded bodies... and discouragement. On the far right side of the blackboard, one of Maxwell's formulas that Lisa had written that very morning was still legible, fully developed.
After her perfect breakfast, she had been convinced that this Friday would be different from all the others –that this time she would manage to hold her students' attention until the end of the class.
But that hadn’t happened.
Explaining quantum entanglement to a group of second-semester students without losing them after five minutes seemed, it turned out, to be asking too much, –no matter the day or the hour. It took only a short while before the whole class began drifting away, one by one, as if guided by some shared hive mind.
Not literally, of course.
They were all still in the classroom, their eyes fixed ahead, their notebooks open on their desks. But mentally they were slipping somewhere else, into a world where the laws of reality no longer mattered –and where Lisa’s voice could no longer follow.
It was nearly seven o'clock. And that warmth she had felt in the morning had faded into a dull gray memory. Between awkward conversations with her colleagues, poorly written emails, tacks of papers waiting to be graded, and an unnecessary discussion with the department head about the lab budget approved for her investigation, Lisa could feel a steady pressure building right between her eyes, accompanied by an emptiness in the center of her chest. As if the energy that usually propelled her forward had quietly stepped aside, leaving only inertia behind.
Outside, the sunset bathed the campus in a deep golden light. Autumn in the city had a strange way of softening colors, filtering light through the brown leaves and giving the entire day a subdued, almost melancholic tone.
Lisa took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear some of the pressure pounding in her forehead and lighten the weight on her chest.
She carried a notebook filled with notes on her research in such miniscule handwriting that only she could decipher it. Without rushing, she crossed the central courtyard, leaving behind the science building with its gray concrete facade.
The campus park was not far away; just a few yards away, surrounded by old iron benches and cobblestone paths that crunched faintly beneath each step. It was a modest but pleasant corner of the campus, with a small pond in the center, where some students sometimes read, sprawling on the grass when the weather allowed.
It was there that Lisa usually "accidentally" ran into Lincoln. She knew he finished his day around 7:15.
Lisa, punctual as always, arrived at her favorite bench at 7:10.
No one was there.
She sat down on the bench next to the enormous oak tree she had grown fond of over the past months. Its branches hung long and heavy, as if the tree itself were tired. Lisa placed her backpack between her thick legs and watched the fading reflection of the sky ripple across the pond.
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the architecture building, and its faint warmth gave way to a cooler evening air tinged faintly with the smell of smoke.
She waited.
To distract herself, she opened her notebook and tried to work through an unfinished equation –one meant to model chaotic systems and predict unstable dynamics. Perhaps the final piece of her research.
She focused on it, but not completely.
«Maybe he’s on his way,» she thought, forcing herself not to check the time on her cell phone even once.
«Maybe something came up.»
And sfter a while... she simply stopped thinking about him altogether.
Instead, she let the silence settle around her.
Minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. Until the bench became too hard, the air too cold, and the notebook too heavy.
At last she got –not angry, not frustrated… just empty inside.
She walked toward her apartment the same way she always did. Only now her shadow stretched longer across the pavement, and the campus lights were beginning to flicker on with their electric hum.
A fire truck sped across the street. Its siren tore through the air with its sharp, rising wail, intensifying the ache in Lisa's head just as she reached her apartment building.
In the city, sirens were a natural part of the background nose –just as noise had been in the Loud household– so she paid them little attention.
In the lobby, she checked her mailbox. An official letter had arrived: the budget allocated for her research.
She climbed the stairs, dodging the numerous rows flowerpots that an eccentric philosophy professor had placed along both sides of the staircase beginning on the second floor. Her apartment was on the fifth, right beside to the stairs. Like all the others in the building, it consisted only three small rooms.
She tucked the letter under her arm, took her keys out of her coat pocket, and opened the door.
Once inside, she took off her scarf and coat before walking into the tiny kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The apartment’s only outward-facing window sat just above the sink, and through it she could see two more fire trucks racing past on the street below.
She had just finished the first glass, and after pouring herself a second, she went into the living room.
The space held little more than an old, completely worn-out sofa, a television that had already been outdated when her parents were still young, and a small desk illuminated by a lamp that struggled to cast enough light for her nightly work.
Lisa sat down in the wooden chair in next to the desk, placing the letter and her notebook in front of her.
She tried to finish the equation.
She couldn't.
Instead, she scribbled a few alternative new formulations, made a small note about entropy and silence... and put the pen aside.
Her new glass of water remained untouched.
She leaned over the table, holding her face with both hands. Her shoulders slumped, her neck bent slightly forward. The dim reflection of light from the lamp reflecting off the kitchen window was her only company.
For a brief moment, she thought about calling Lincoln.
They hadn't had their usual conversation in the park that evening, and truth be told, she had nothing particularly interesting to tell him. Still, she wanted to hear his voice. She wanted him to say her name in that soft, familiar, comforting tone he always used when speaking to her.
But she didn't call.
Just as she was about to take off her shoes and go to bed, the doorbell rang.
Sharp. Insistent. With that urgency that always foreshadows something bad, like any doorbell that rings at unusual hours.
Lisa froze.
She wasn't expecting visitors. She didn't want any visitors... except for her brother.
"Who is it?" she called, without going all the way to the door.
"It's... it's me, teach," replied a young voice –though not as young as Lisa's– and strained with poorly concealed tension. "Mariana."
Lisa stood still, silent.
She didn't like Mariana. Something about the way she looked at Lincoln unsettled her, an instinctive warning she wouldn’t bother explaining. The redhead had often tried to be friendly with her, but as Lisa, she had never admitted her obvious crush on Lincoln.
Lisa knew anyway.
Her instinct, as a sister and more importantly, as a woman, had told her so.
She finally opened the door.
Mariana stood there, pale. Her eyes looked enormous in the dim hallway light, bright and full with fear. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few curls slipping free and stirring in the draft from the stairwell. She wore a light jacket, but the trembling in her shoulders had nothing to do with the nonexistent cold.
"What's going on?" Lisa asked, unable to hide either her concern... or her irritation.
"The building where Lincoln lives...” Mariana began, her voice tight, “It’s on fire."
The words shattered Lisa’s fragile calm abruptly, as did her glass of water hitting the floor.
"What do you mean it's on fire?"
Mariana hadn't given her vague warnings or assumptions, just simple facts. Precise, cold, and undeniable… like data obtained from a lab experiment.
"I just passed by," Mariana said quickly. "I was going... somewhere. I saw smoke. And when I got closer... “She swallowed” I saw the whole thing. I called the fire department. They're on their way. I don't know if he was inside. I don't know anything."
A strange heat crept up the back of Lisa’s neck, prickling across her skin.
Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up.
She turned back into her apartment, grabbing the keys and the jacket she had just hung by the door. Mariana remained outside and Lisa didn't invite her in.
"Let's go," Lisa said.
They rushed down the stairs. One behind the other. No words, no glances exchanged.
Outside, the air had changed. The faint smell of smoke that had lingered earlier was now thick and unmistakable: burnt plastic, rubber, and soot.
In the distance, five blocks away, a column of black smoke twisted upward into the evening sky like a dark specter.
They moved quickly through the street, weaving past stopped cars and clusters of people hurrying toward –or away from–the scene. The noise grew louder with every step, mingling with the sirens wailing somewhere ahead, their rising pitch hanging over the neighborhood like a warning.
When they turned the final corner and the building came fully into view, Lisa stopped dead in her tracks.
The fire was no longer consuming the entire structure, but the damage was obvious. Windows had exploded outward, and the facades of the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors were blackened with soot.
Lincoln's apartment was on the fourth floor.
Small flames still licked at the windows of the upper level, fed by the last pockets of oxygen inside the building.
Students crowded the street below. Some were shouting names others were just observing it all. A fat girl stood barefoot on the pavement, her hair still covered in soap, crying in her bathrobe. An Asian boy filmed the scene with his phone.
Firefighters –helmets gleaming under the flashing lights– had already deployed their hoses and were aiming their jets of water against the upper floors.
Lisa didn't scream.
She didn't hysteric ask questions.
She just watched.
Next to her, Mariana’s fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
"I don't know if he was home," said the girl, barely a whisper. "Today he said he'd be busy until late, I don't think it was for classes, but..."
A strange emotion rose in Lisa’s chest, something she wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever say out loud.
Jealousy.
But there was also a dull rage, a quiet indignation. Why did Mariana know his schedule? Why had she come running straight to tell her?
Lisa turned toward her student. For a fleeting moment she considered asking the questions burning at the edge of her thoughts; if she liked him. If they were already dating. If she had been with him. If he responded to her messages with emojis and sappy phrases that he would never send to her.
But she said none of it.
Instead she asked calmly, "If he wasn't busy with classes, do you know where he might be working? Do you have his phone number?"
Mariana shook her head.
"I don't know. He never tells me all the details."
«Of course not,» Lisa thought, bitterly but relieved.
Lincoln rarely spoke about his daily life. He was charming, yes, hot, magnetic, full of curious ideas and impromptu passions. But when it came to opening up, to sharing the ordinary details about his day, he slipped away from questions with effortless ease, dissolving like a salt in any dissolving agent.
The flames on the upper floors were beginning to weaken, though they still burned slightly.
Suddenly a voice crackled into life through a megaphone.
At first no one paid attention, but the speech quickly grew louder—sharp, angry words cutting through the confusion. Slowly the crowd’s shock began to transform into something else.
Murmurs to protests.
Surprise to anger.
And amid that swelling chorus of voices, beneath the evening sky thick with smoke, both women finally spotted the man they had come looking for.