A/N: Okay, so I believe I owe some people an explanation. Yes, this is indeed the third time I'm submitting this story. The reason I deleted it the first two times was because there's been glitching going on that makes the Error 1 message pop up for new stories and updated stories. So naturally, I figured it'd be best to give submitting another go once the glitch got fixed. Well, I'm still not 100% if it's been fixed, but it looks like it has. Therefore, I'm gonna try keeping this story up one more time. If it still gives me problems, it's going to wind up being deleted again, and I won't bother submitting the story again until I know, for a fact, that the glitch is gone and everything's as right as rain.

Another Valentine's Day had come and gone.

Well, technically that wasn't quite true. After all, it was only a few minutes after four in the afternoon, meaning that there was still time left in the day for the holiday of love to be celebrated. For elementary school students like Lincoln Loud, however, Valentine's Day only had any real significance from 9 AM to 3 PM.

So yeah, from his point of view, another Valentine's Day had come and gone. More specifically, another unsuccessful Valentine's Day had come and gone and for the first time in his life, it actually bothered him.

Lincoln had never really cared for the Valentine's Day before and all the sickeningly sappy rituals that come along with it, meaning that he couldn't care less if he had never been a recipient of someone's admiration before—it's not like he could've felt loss from something that he never received, anyway.

Sure, he could understand why someone would feel flattered, ecstatic even, about getting chocolates, flowers, poems and all the significance behind the trinkets but…eh; schmaltzy, gooey festivities just weren't his scene, plain and simple. Besides, it wasn't like he would've known what to do with some faceless girls' advances, anyway, at least without hurting their feelings with his apathy to the gift and to the girl giving it to him.

However, Paige wasn't a faceless girl; if she were, then she wouldn't be the exception to Lincoln's Valentine's Day indifference. The most significant interactions Lincoln ever had with her were the ones in his head, where her tender blue eyes looked at him lovingly, her melodic voice rang like heavenly church bells in his ears as she laughed at all his jokes, and her smooth fingers threaded pleasantly with his as they held hands and watched the clouds.

Regardless, despite the fact that they had never held a conversation before, Lincoln wished—oh, how he wished—that the first words she'd say to him would be today; she'd bashfully approach him, her nerves and stomach in knots, and utter those five magic words: "Will you be my valentine?"

And what left a gaping, festering wound in his heart, that panged miserably every time the memory flashed before him, was that she had said them.

To someone else.

As he sat on the living room couch, frowning sadly and blankly looking up at the ceiling, Lincoln wished he had never gone to school today—at least he wouldn't have had to feel his soul get crushed and his heart shattered to pieces after hearing Paige gush over a boy that wasn't him (and just a few feet away from him as she stuffed books into his locker, no less).

And from that point on, what was once Valentine's Day indifference slowly but surely turned into depressing inadequacy. Every time he was passed over, ignored as flocks of girls seemingly did everything in their power not to salve his wounded feelings with a token of their affection and pity, he just felt more and more unloved, the jagged-toothed clamp of misery squeezed tighter around his chest.

By the time school was over, he not only felt downhearted at being left out but angry at himself for apparently being so shallow and self-centered that he felt sad because he wasn't being showered with endearment on a holiday that he never had any real respect for to begin with. What gave him the right to be mopey about being invisible, as if he was owed sympathy and mollycoddling because his precious baby fweeings got hurt over a girl who was too busy swooning over someone who probably deserved her attention more than him, anyway?

Lincoln sighed longingly, trying to tamp down the lump that was beginning to form in his throat as his eyes started to water—his anger couldn't last long, not when it was throttled around by the emptiness and heartache that today had brought him.

He stayed that way for a little while longer, sighing and brushing away the stray tears that prickled out of his eyes, until he heard a knock on the front door. He let out a pained groan, knowing that he'd have to leave the solace of his seat (that he was just starting to settle into) in order to answer. It would only be fair for him to do it. After all, unlike him, his sisters (sans Lori, who was driving to the Casagrande's bodega to visit Bobby) were enjoying themselves right now, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about all the gifts that they were good enough to get.

"I'll get it," Lincoln said sullenly to no one in particular as he headed towards his destination, moving sluggishly and slowly enough for another light barrage of knocks to bang against the door.

As he unlocked the door and pulled it back, Lincoln thought it to be a good idea to at least try to look happy for the visitor, even if his dumb feelings wouldn't allow him to sport a genuine smile…

But when he swung the door all the way back and got a good look at the visitor, a genuine smile is exactly what spread across Lincoln's face that was so big that his cheeks cramped—how could he, let alone anyone, be down in the dumps with a face like the one that greeted him? Without thinking, he got down on one knee to look the visitor in the eye, put an arm forward, and gave those cute locks of brown hair a ruffle.

"Hey, Darcy!" Lincoln chirped, using the sort of syrupy tone one would use to dote over a puppy.

He was so wrapped up in his own joy that he failed to realize that, instead of accepting the gesture with a cheerful smile and giggle like she usually did, Darcy, who was holding onto Rafo like her life depended on it, grinned bashfully and blushed while she looked away from him and stared at her light-up shoes.

"H-hi, Lincoln," she mumbled.

Lincoln drew his hand back and stood up. "Well, don't just stand there," he insisted warmly, stepping to the side and motioning for her to come inside.

Darcy feebly nodded and followed Lincoln, doing so with trembling, wary steps as she shuffled to the couch. Meanwhile, Lincoln, who was making his way to the kitchen to grab a box of apple juice for his guest, was still grinning from ear-to-ear about this latest development. He couldn't have asked for a better way to keep the gloom at bay than Darcy Homandollar. Sure, she was most likely here to hang out with Lisa and would only spare him a few minutes at best, but he couldn't help but be thrilled anyway—Darcy was a precocious little ray of sunshine, able to lift his spirits no matter what mood he was in. His mother could've told him that Charles peed all over his comic book collection, but he would'nt have given the horror a second thought as long as Darcy was around to brighten his mood.

It was right there and then that Lincoln thought better of his little mission; forget one apple juice box, she was getting two. And a chocolate chip cookie. And a pinch on the cheek because adorableness like Darcy's deserved it.

A few minutes later, Lincoln returned with the snacks, brushing past Darcy—who was sitting on the middle couch cushion with Rafo by her side—as he did so and placed them on the coffee table.

'Now for that cheek pinch.'

But just as Lincoln was about to turn around, Darcy called out to him in a frantic, pleading tone.

"Wait!" she cried. "Please don't move!"

Lincoln's eyes widened, the blood in his veins turning into ice. "What, i-is something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"I'm okay," she said. "I, uh, just need you to stay put for just a teeny tiny bit, please."

Lincoln's thundering heart rate was calmed by the reassurance, though he still didn't know what to make of Darcy's request or the reserved pitch in her voice. He was apparently contemplative for too long because she added, "Pretty please? With chocolate fudge, sprinkles, gummy bears, marshmallows, whipped cream, and cookie crumbs on top?"

Lincoln chuckled. "Everything but the cherry, huh?"

He could practically see the grimace on her face as she made a disgusted sound, deep from the back of her throat. "Blech! I don't like cherries," she said. "They're yucky, especially when they use the juice to make nasty cough medicine. Double blech!"

Lincoln laughed again, though he had the presence of mind to be quick to give Darcy an answer to put her at ease. "Okay," he said. "I won't move until you tell me."

From there, Lincoln stood in silence, wondering where Darcy was going with this. He could've sworn he heard the faint sound of paper crinkling and whispers but other than that, nothing could clue him in on what he was in for. Maybe Darcy brought a game or toy that she wanted to show him, something like a cootie catcher or a paper airplane or a—

He failed to finish his thoughts once he felt a finger lightly tap him on the shoulder, followed by Darcy saying, "I'm…I'm ready."

There it was again, Lincoln thought—that nervous timbre in her voice from when she had first asked him not to move. Suddenly, the idea that Darcy could've been presenting some kind of game to him was silly; just what in the world could've been so nerve-racking about that?

'Only one way to find out,' Lincoln thought as he turned around, looked down...

And nearly gasped the entire room's oxygen in one fell swoop out of shock at what he saw before an overjoyed smile graced his face. There was Darcy, holding up a white, wrinkled-up sheet of paper out to him, her trembling fingers threatening to tear the paper right down the middle. A fierce blush swarmed over her cheeks as her eyes squeezed tight and her lips were drawn in a tightened line.

Lincoln, who was slowly but surely regaining his senses, was left with no room for speculation behind Darcy's behavior—how could there be with…with this? "This" wasn't the paper that Darcy presented itself but what was scribbled on it. On the lower half was a rough, crayon-colored sketch of him and Darcy, sitting in the grass and holding hands with tiny red hearts floating over her head. The upper half was adorned with giant, red lettering that spelled out the following message:

WILL YOU BE MY VALEENTIN?

Lincoln all but melted, his giddy smile ever-present as he looked back at Darcy, who had one eye cracked open and stared at him cautiously.

"R-rafo helped me make it," she said, as if to pass off any blame to her stuffed giraffe in case Lincoln didn't take too kindly to her message.

But what happened next put Darcy's fears to bed—she let out a surprised squeak as she was suddenly lifted off the ground, held by underneath her armpits as Lincoln scooped her up and brought her close for a hug that brought her face to his chest.

"Awwwww, of course, I'll be your valentine!" Lincoln cried, snuggling his cheek against her hair.

It was Darcy's turn to beam a bright smile, her jittery embarrassment forgotten from the swell of disbelief and giddiness that pounded in her chest. "You will?!" she asked excitedly.

"Promise!"

"Pinky promise?!"

Lincoln looked down and sure enough, there was a pinky held out for him to hook onto. He looked right into Darcy's eyes and said, "Pinky promise," before he latched on his pinky with hers.

After sealing the deal, Darcy, being the little angel that she was, offered to share half of the snacks that Lincoln had brought for her earlier. Though Lincoln was reluctant about passing up the chance to spoil her like he wanted, he accepted. Giving in to Darcy wound up doing Lincoln some good—sipping on apple juice in silence gave him the time to let the past few minutes sink in, and with that came a bigger sense of appreciation for everything that had happened.

Lincoln didn't know what spurred Darcy into doing this (a crush was his best guess), but he quickly found himself not caring. Yes, being disregarded by Paige stung, but that didn't mean that he had to carry on with such a bleak, dreary outlook of his worth as a person; there would always be the "Darcy's" of the world, those without guile or deceit behind their actions as they gave a piece of their heart out to those who needed to be reminded that they were worthy of love and compassion like everybody else.

And after being taught that, Lincoln had a newfound appreciation for Valentine's Day. More importantly, however, he had a newfound appreciation for Darcy Homandollar.

Oh, and her giggle; he wasn't kidding when he promised himself he'd pinch her cheek.