The Line

Come, okay?

"Juan?" Flynn called.

"Give me a moment."

Juan pulled a questionably clean shirt over his head, tidied up the bedroom and part of the hallway as best he could, and checked if the fridge was fully stocked, or as close as it got to it in the Line--force of habit, and it was empty--before meeting Flynn at the door.

Their apartment was small. Very, very, small. The vomit-coloured, paper-thin walls had things--best to leave it at that--growing into them, and the front door was so crappy someone could collapse it with a light nudge. This was why Flynn was always careful not to knock when he came home. It was also why they'd both agreed to use their couch as a makeshift lock.

It was a living space, however--a real one. And on an island where most resided in plugger-infested tents, it was way better than nothing. Juan did his best to keep the place clean, despite its flaws. Odd for a tenant in the Line. Odd for Flynn's roomate. But Juan had never quite been like the others.

Flynn stepped in, flinging himself onto the ratty couch after he backed it to its original position against the door. He left green marks on the multicoloured fabric and sighed, a long exhale he compounded with a breathless grin.

"Caught in the rain?" Juan asked.

"For the last time," Flynn answered. "Today's the day." His storm-coloured eyes were dreamy. "Just tell me which side you prefer. South Side of the   Line? Drought, constant heat waves, deserts everywhere you look. Or is it the North Side? Is snow more your thing? Penguins and blizzards, icicles for breakfast..." He trailed off.

"South Side, obviously." Juan bit his lip. "But... I don't think this is the way to do it."

What Juan meant to say was that he wasn't certain he truly wanted to go back. The thought had been recurrent, and the empty apartment had only amplified it. The odds were heavy his family hadn't missed him, and he certainly hadn't missed them. Ducking pluggers was a pain, but at least he could breathe without cooling shots. And Flynn... What would happen once they crossed over to the South Side? What would happen to them? Would they still be friends?

"Whatever you say." Flynn shrugged. "You'll watch me walk outside of the Line, free as a bird. Before my Retrial."

Retrial. The word alone made a chill shoot up Juan's spine.

"They'll just send you back here. The 'court,'" Juan said. 

"Five months in here, okay? That means we've only got seven left before--"

"Don't. Don't remind me how long I've been stuck here." Don't say Retrial.

Juan really was in a foul mood. Nervous now, Flynn unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. They came out sticky and green, which only made him groan. "If you say so. Just don't tell me you want to go to the South Side to tan. I think you've already had way more than enough sun." Juan didn't laugh, didn't even chuckle--he kept staring ahead evenly, broodingly. Flynn got the message and tightened his voice. "The dock. Two hours from now. That's when we're leaving." This departure time would give them plenty of leeway before the forcefield opened.

"What about the storms?" asked Juan. Anyone who went out at sea made sure to check the weather predictions first.

"The Weather Man said there wouldn't be any today," Flynn answered. He stretched his lips into a messy smile. "Come, okay?" Standing up and moving toward the shower, he whispered to himself, "You're not the only one who's been stuck here too long."