I push a thread of air through my chapped lips in an attempt to get the loose curls out of my eyes. The thin black cord on my right wrist lights up the skin of my forearm, displaying clear green numbers: 2:04 AM. He's late…

     Another random ringlet falls into my eyes and I release a small exasperated whimper. It sounds like a toddler on the verge of tantrum as the cave’s walls bounce my own whining back at me magnified and on repeat. You're an adult, Yvie. Get your shit together. I kick a loose pebble into an old tin can with the steel-toe tip of my combat boot. It’s not much better.

     Unruly hair aside, the sneaking out and turbulent ride over here seemed overall smoother than usual. Which, in my experience, usually means there is still something that is inevitable to go wrong. If it hasn't already, then it will. Guaranteed. Every. Damn. Time.

     I start to pace, my mind going back through tonight's events, wondering if I might have missed something. Maybe he forgot… I don't know why I think that every time.

     This cave is one of the very scarce constants in this landscape of dancing destruction. The Scar is always persistently changing, yet not, the tornados wreaking havoc in their predictably twisting and reckless ways.

     The Scar remains a weird kind of maze of canyons and ravines that have been continuously carved by endless parades of swirling pillars of dust, dirt, debris, and anything else that gets caught up in it. Tornadoes dictate the landscape for miles on all sides, some taking the same paths over and over, enough so that mapping them has been a tedious, yet not impossible, task for nearly a full decade now. For the research cartographers and various elders of specific areas of expertise... Not me, specifically.

     I'm just a TumbleTech.

     The Tumbler is a magnificent little creation that essentially acts as storm debris at the very least, personalized rocket at most, depending on the size of the fuel tank and the kick behind the thrusters on a 360° rotation. Also, it can tow a two-ton wreckage comb like it’s nothing–those handy debris-collecting honey-comb-looking cages the Rovers use to scavenge for treasures of an ancient world.

     I spent a solid two years redesigning the Tumbler’s clunkiness and narrow parameters of scattered segments of The Hive to a more efficient bee-like resemblance that can actually travel as far south as Uda Tri in one spit.

      It's pretty badass, if I were the kind of creator who “tooted their own horn,” as the Gone Ones would have said.

     I might have read that line somewhere in one of the only books left in the whole world. I have been training in electronic systems engineering and technology since I was four (I took apart an Old World DVD player and put it back together again just for fun), but I've read all the other books too, not just the equipment operating manuals and mandatory “Creation Protocols of The Hive, Established 2144.”

     The Hive is broken up into the six generative virtues of life: Creation of Mind, Creation of Body, Creation of Soul, Creation of Land, Creation of Water, & Creation of Innovation.

     Seeing as how the world cracking apart and thus creating a never-ending storm apocalypse nearly twenty years ago… “it is with The Hive’s Creation Protocols that the human race can not only survive, but thrive.” Put all of the Segments together and you have a highly functioning bee-minded-like hive of people, all integrated as one entity even though we are very much six separate parts. Except, one would not live without the other. There’s an irony in all that somewhere.

     I flick my wrist and the dusty night floods the cave once again.

     Most kids of The Hive struggle to memorize the entire protocol book from cover to cover as it is required to be recited in its entirety in order to graduate from academics or to obtain a Tumbler license.

     I only needed to read it the whole once. My younger siblings, Wren and Thomas, call it “geeking,” but my ability to retain information, prudent details and even insignificant memories always felt like a secret superpower. Something I can't explain, but had always somehow explained me.

     So I earned my Tumbler license at the young age of only seven, the youngest yet. I then graduated from my academics with honors when I was fourteen. Two years earlier than the average.

     Jaak may not be as smart as me, but he got his T-license only two years after I did. Any member of any age of The Hive can study and apply to take the permit test. But if you fail, you have to wait a whole year before you can re-apply again. Jaak failed twice.

     As if simply thinking his name could conjure him to me, his Tumbler lands right beside mine on the small cliffside just beyond the opening of the cave.

     A moment later, he’s casually strolling through the yawning mouth of the cave, ducking his head slightly and flicking a match. The joint between his lips lights up and he rolls it around the callused pads of his thumb and forefinger as his lungs drag deep. The glow of it reveals his face just enough to tell me that he is looking directly at me. Even if I can't see his eyes in the dark, I would know his gaze is actively searching for mine.

     He always makes this cave feel so much smaller than it is.

     I shiver reflexively from the sudden breeze rolling off the walls of the packed earth and rock surrounding us. The pack of twisters are rotating back through the ravine and a chill creeps up my bare back and over my neck.

     He notices, but doesn't say anything. He passes me the joint and I pinch it between my lips and suck in the smoke with ease. I look out beyond him into the swirling columns of dust dancing out of reach of the edge of the shallow cave. Hold the smoke in. Only when I close my eyes to let the hit take me completely does he speak.

     “You're different. Older.” He says, studying me still.

     “So are you. I mean…” Exhale. Inhale. Exhale, “I don't honestly believe anyone is ever meant to stay the same… do you?” The smoke curls around each word as they pass over my lips. He scoffs and I can make out the silhouette of his sandy curls shifting as he shakes his head.

     “See… like that,” His voice vibrates in the smoke-clouded space between us and I attempt to stifle the thumping of my heart by taking another puff of the joint.

     Because the rumble of his voice wraps me in the statement more than it applies the pressures of a question when he says, “you've been through some shit these past few months, haven't you.”

     “Six months can change the world,” I say, still staring out into dust because I am nervous to look at him. “But I'm here now. Enjoying this. With you. Even though I shouldn't be… you’ve changed too.” Careful. I need to be so careful. I don’t know if I am ready for this same broken argument.

     Then again, I never am ready when it comes to him. Then again, that is what happens when two parts of the same whole are at war with each other.

     Six months ago, we spent five minutes just arguing over how not okay this whole thing is. Neither one of us should be here right now. We both know why. But we both know we can't help it. We keep coming back.

     The last time I laid eyes on Jaak, a whole six months ago, he had short hair, trimmed neat to his face. His eyes a chilled blue of immature arrogance. Now, though, they seem to hold years of humbled experience and even a sense of cautionary apprehension. The words feel nice in my head, and I wonder how he'd describe me inside of his.

     Jaak is exactly six months older than me. He used to tease me for being “six months shy of perfection.” I just nod and smile like I know what he means.

     Our parents chose opposite sides. We didn't get to choose at all. That was just over a decade ago. Before then, before that night… We were inseparable.

     I can see the shift in his jawline and I shake my head once, “I don't want to argue, Jaak--”

     Still, now, there's no time to decide.

     “You were supposed to be mine.” His roughly growled words shatter on the wall behind my head.

     His hands have suddenly framed my face and he is inhaling the smoke I've just released as his lips find mine in the dry and dirty dark and it feels like the world is cracking apart all over again… if I knew what the world cracking apart had felt like all those years ago. If it felt anything like described in the volumes of history.

     My toes curl in my boots and my arms reflexively wrap around the back of his head and I'm pulling him closer, closer still.

     His hands have left my face to grip either side of my waist, sliding down over my hips, then even further to grab at my ass as he hoists me into the cool air like I weigh nothing.

     The joint still between my fingers, I hold my right hand up and away. I bite his bottom lip.

     “Fuck, Yvie.” His lips only leave mine long enough to utter the curse alongside my name as he directs us deeper into the cave.

     We only pry our lips apart when my back hits a wall of dirt, vibrating from the ruckus outside. My legs are wrapped tight around his middle. He removes his hands from my bottom and they gently roam up my sides over the top of my thin tank top. They dance up to my arms wrapped around his neck and pull. My wrists seem fragile in his large callused hands and he lays them on each of his shoulders like he thinks they might be made of porcelain too.

     “The joint…” My voice is a rough draft of a whisper and I suddenly can't seem to catch my breath. He realizes what I mean and takes the joint from my hand, takes a drag, then holds it up to my lips. He sticks the joint between them and so achingly slowly runs the tips of his fingers down over my bottom lip, then down my jawline, then neck.

     His lips follow the trail his fingertips left on my skin across my chest, greedy and hurried. I lean backward and lift my right hand to take the joint from my mouth.

     He has one arm around my back, his free hand roaming up my bare thigh to the hem of my shorts. His curls tickle my neck as he sweeps his tongue over the salty flesh of my cleavage.

     I moan. Loudly. To hell with caution.

     He freezes. So do I.

     He straightens his whole body, his hand sliding up to wrap gently around my throat. My pulse dances for him beneath his fingers and I swallow. Hard. His grip tightens just a bit.

     “That sound you just made… again.” Heat in his demand. I find his eyes slicing through the darkness to find mine and they're so close, I moan with the sheer intensity of them.

     I can feel my moan vibrating in my throat beneath his palm and can't help but moan again as his lips hover above mine. Teasing.

     My free hand finds itself wrapped in his hair. His tongue presses into my mouth with the intent to devour me from the inside out. He releases my throat. His fingertips biting into my thigh again, I lean my whole body toward him as our lips part once more. Our breaths are quick and heavy between us and I run my greedy hands through his hair over and over, drunk with the feel of him. I don't want to let go. So for now, I decide, I won't.

     My forehead rests against his. Jaak slowly sinks to his knees, the dry dust and rubble shifting to greet us as he eases us both onto the ground.

     I unlock my legs from his waist and shift so our knees are touching, same as our foreheads. He's towering over me, but we somehow fit.

     His hands wander upward, into the hair at the back of my head, holding my head to his or his to mine. The other is cupping my face again, his thumb caressing my bottom lip.

     “We've never gone this far, Yvie. We should stop.” His tone doesn't carry much weight.

     “We are no longer children, Jaak. You were my very first kiss when I was only six years old. Before that, even, you were my very first friend in this whole terrifying world. Why can’t you be my first this–” I gesture between our hip-space and his chuckle is exactly the ripple of joy I wanted tearing through my open heart. “--too? We’ve already come so far, my first love. And I do love you, Jaak Taylor. Now,” I’m purring like a kitten as I wrap myself around him once more, “are you going to give me my birthday present or what?”

     Jaak growls low in his throat and bites my neck as my hand lowers toward his growing lap. I suddenly remember the joint still between my fingers and take another hit.

     “Choose me.” My whisper is desperate as it clings to my skin. I let out a breath in a nearly comical dramatic whoosh.

     “Whoa, Yvie. Our segments haven’t chosen each other in the Unions for over a decade...” I frown up at him. He takes the joint and takes another puff. Before he can exhale the hit, my lips cover his, his smoke filling me too. I trace his lips with a lazy tongue.

     “That would be my fate,” I can feel the words bubbling up to the surface before I can wrangle my emotions in, my pent up yearning for him taking control, “that the one man in the entirety of this universe that I would break every one of the rules for in every regard, and I’m the one woman in the whole world he’d rather love in secret, or, better yet, not at all. What’s the point then, Jaak? What’s the point of having a lover that doesn’t even want to love me out loud? Or, worse yet, doesn’t even wish to touch me–really fucking touch me… at all?” My voice is rising above my still-echoing lust-filled moans from before. “I don't know how to hate you when all I have ever known is how to love you.” I admit in a rush of air between us, the panic in my heart bubbling to the surface with every syllable.

     “This can't be real life.” He whispers. Shakes his head.

     “Why not?” I whisper back. It's surprising to me how shaky my voice is now when I was practically yelling only a moment ago. How every time we end up here, in this cave, he seems to unravel me at the very seam… maybe it isn't that shocking afterall.

     “Because the boy who was in love with you before the war, the boy who loved you all through training and academics never thought this moment would ever be possible.” It takes me a moment to realize that the boy he’s talking about is himself.

     “You were… in love with me?”

     He shakes his head, “I'm in love with you now, Yvie. Hell, I've been in love with you always.”

     The rage of The Scar seems far away, the echo of that last word still bouncing around the small cave as his confession lingers between us. We're right on the edge. But this place… on the very line of The Abyss is where even the storms cannot stay. Nothing enters The Abyss that does not want to get lost. Because once it does, it is never to be found again. The Abyss is where things go to die. I imagine the love he’s just verbally, finally, declared to me drifting out into The Abyss right now. I think fleetingly that I might catch those words that are mine and keep them in a jar forever like in the herb library or the specimens kept in the labs.

     “Why haven't we ever said these words before?” I ask.

     “Maybe we have been too preoccupied with keeping up the charade of hating each other that we couldn't be bothered to find those words before now.” It's a brutal truth, but still a truth. I purse my lips and furrow my brow in frustration.

     “Before it was too late, you mean. We've been playing this game of hate for far too long.” I make to pull away from him, but he grabs my hand with the joint still in it. It went out a dozen of hot breaths ago.

     “Like I said, this can't be real life. Real life wasn't meant for us.” His voice is drained of the lust he had pent up for me and is now dripping in raw undiluted sorrow. It wrecks my heart and I have to look away.

     “I have to go.” I say. I don't mean it. I don't want to go.

     “Yvie, don’t.” I whirl around to face him, still kneeling on the ground. I think for a moment how I might enjoy wholeheartedly having him look up at me for once.

     “Don’t, what, Jaak? Don't choose? Don't want you? Don't fight a war that won't ever end because our families are just that stubborn? Tell me, Jaak, what is it you don't want me to do?” With a tiny tug on the hand in his grip, I'm falling, landing right back into Jaak’s hard lap.

     “Don't use the voice you have to use out there while you're in here with me now. Don't talk to me like I'm the enemy, Yve.” He's still holding my hand, only up against his chest, over his heart. His other hand comes up to cover mine, his palm is hot on my skin. I cover it with my free hand instinctively to hold him there.

     “According to every single person that is either a Taylor or a Madison, and all those who follow the leadership of either name, regardless of how this war began... you are my enemy. They all expect us to hate each other. We've led them to believe that we actually do. And yet, here we are, every six months, trying to convince ourselves otherwise. I don't know what is true or what isn't anymore. I don't care about their war or their pride or their greed or their ‘contribution to the human race’ bullshit or whatever else drives them. I don't know if The Hive is meant to repopulate this world or if I have any other option than to participate in this absolute circus. What I do know, Jaak, is that I can't go to The Unions in a year and publicly acknowledge any other as having my heart except for you. Even if it means treason--"

     “That's the thing with you and I, isn't it… we're kind of this all-or-nothing situation. Yvie, I want it all with you. Everything. From the moment we started this, our friendship crossed that line into something more… I knew that once we cross that physical line, fuck, Yvie, there'd be so coming back from that.” Jaak's rough voice cuts through me as it cracks with emotion I'd never seen from him before now.

     “What the fuck are you so afraid of?” For a long pause of silence between us–just the whirls of whistling wind ripping through the dry ground beyond our long-lost cave–I fear my desperate whispered words were whisked away into the night without having him hear them first, but then he's framing my face in his hands once more and I'm guided by him to gaze into his eyes as he responds.

     “You terrify me because I'd let you consume me entirely, woman, and I'd never look back. I wouldn't want anything else but you. You've always said that you never wanted to have children, nevermind entering yourself into The Unions to even begin with. But make no mistake, Yvie. Once I am inside of you, there's not a damn thing in this world that could get me to pull out of you. Don't you understand that?”

     “I do now…”