Nothing is ever still, nothing ever changes. We always move, we are always the same. Five years of radio silence can dissipate and we can still be angry; we can always be angry and we can never stop loving.

Tonight, like every night, Chloe is alone with her thoughts. The subtle presence behind her makes her no less lonely. A hand fumbles tentatively at her side, skin brushing on cloth brushing on skin, settling at her ribcage without imposing itself. The presence shifts, pushing breath on cloth on the skin of her shoulder. A body of flesh and fabric rests front to back against her own, comfortably, easily attached, and yet Chloe is still alone. They are one body and two minds, one of two bodies too scared to let another mind in; we always feel anger and we are always in love.

Max breathes into Chloe's back and Chloe isn't ready to breathe back. Nothing is ever still, nothing ever changes. We always move, we are always the same. We will always hurt, and we will always love.

"Chloe," Max murmurs, "are you awake?"

"Always," says Chloe. Then, to avoid clichés, "What's up, nerd?"

"Nothing," she breathes, after a moment.

In the stillness of the night, everything moves and nothing is silent. Max's heart beats into Chloe's back and Chloe's heart beats into Max's hand, and while they are still they move, and when Max moves they are still. Chloe feels her loosen and lift and turns to face her, to listen, but her lips form no words. Chloe stares unwittingly at them in the dark, where nothing should be seen or known but more is done and more is learnt, and Max puts her mouth to Chloe's so gently it's almost an accident. But Chloe knows it's a question so she answers, licks her lips and kisses her and breathes, and kisses back and breathes again. She has always loved Max, and it has always hurt.

So Chloe pulls away. Her heart is both the beast and its cage; Chloe knows it only hurts to hope when one is doomed to lifeless sleep and yet she allows herself to thrash and claw, battles only harder against futility. Max's hand snaps out to take hers but she's too quick, sits up, stands up, tarries, wanders, fights and tames at once.

"Chloe," she pleads, "I'm such a fucking idiot – please don't be mad, I just – shit –"

And Chloe sees Max's hand lift up and she knows what she's about to do and somehow she doesn't want her to.

"No," she says, snatching Max's wrists, "Don't you fucking dare."

So both bodies stare, aghast, confused, and Chloe realises that nothing is ever still and nothing ever changes. She will always love Max, and it will always hurt. A whole cleft in two for many years, they come together without delay, without caution, without regard for anger or pain or time.

Chloe and Max have changed and they are the same. They are new and prehistoric.