He was ice.

Cold. Biting. And when you kissed him, your lips turned numb.

He was ice, and I was fire.

Polar opposites; two powerful elements of nature that were not meant to mix; two vicious and cruel extremes that should never be allowed to touch.

So, why did we fit together so well? Why did we get along as if we were one and the same? Why was he my other half?

It had started with a touch, a high-five over shots at a bar. It was nothing, nothing at all, but we'd locked eyes for a second, maybe two, as our hands had collided. Both of us had felt the spark.

Bang. The first shot, into the wall above my shoulder.

It was a sensation I could never explain, but I felt it. It zapped from my hand to my chest, speeding up the previously rhythmic beat of my heart. And I knew, just from looking up, over at him, that he'd felt it too.

That single second of eye contact told me more than words ever could have.

Bang. Bang. Second and third, this time into his shoulder and stomach. "Tara..."

Nothing happened after that for a while. It was the first time we'd met - the high-five had been over something stupid, some shared interest or other such small, meaningless thing - and it had been because of mutual friends.

I'd seen him a couple dozen times by that point, but I'd never actually spoken to him before then, because there'd never been reason to before. 

The click of a magazine being reloaded. From somewhere faraway, I could hear screaming.

We were both gang members, of separate gangs that had declared an alliance years before, and meet-ups like this were commonplace. Friendships were encouraged to keep the alliance strong.

I don't think there was anyone that wasn't glad of the alliance either. It was great. It meant more people to hang about with, more people to get to know. It meant easy access to a number of exclusive bars, frequented by gangs from across the city. No one could say a bad word against it.

It was also what had led to me first meeting Bow, so I could hardly say anything either.

A few weeks after that first initial meet-up, we saw each other again. This time, it was at a meeting, rather than a bar. This time, we had more of a chance to talk, without our friends getting in the way. I remember he was wearing his trademark leather jacket that day, the one with the dark grey swirls across both shoulders. His hair had been its usual mess, and his face had carried its usual half-smile too. 

Me. I was screaming. He was falling.

We hadn't really meant to talk at that meeting, but over the course of the four hours it lasted, we'd kinda moved closer together, bit by bit, until we were deep in conversation, standing next to each other against the back wall.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Now I was falling, and everything was muffled. It was like I was under the sea.

The gang meetings had a specific way of working. Most if not all members of both gangs would  show up, mingle, and those in the leading positions would sit down to talk: sometimes just as a show of alliance, sometimes over important matters. It was all about seeming as calm and chill as possible, in order to keep any onlookers satisfied that this was nothing to be concerned about. Appearance wise, we all looked like heavy metal fans, I suppose. It was a look that discouraged the more curious from delving further into our business than they should.

The rules had been slackened lately, since our main competition had moved out. Secrecy wasn't quite as necessary as it had once been. We could meet up like this, mingle, and everything would be fine.

I'd walked around the compound the meeting was being held in with Bow, going nowhere in particular, but heading away from everyone else. Eventually we'd been in a hallway, alone with only the sounds of each other. We weren't too far from the others, but in that hallway, their voices were almost completely muffled. 

I remember there was graffiti in a bright, neon green and swirling dark pink across the walls. Bow drew graffiti sometimes, as did I. We spoke about that while we walked; it was just another thing we seemed to have in common.

I reached my hand towards him, even though he'd gone awfully still.

I don't know exactly how it happened, but a second later I was kissing him, and I was pressed against the wall. His lips were like ice; cold, exciting, captivating. His touch burned my skin. Electricity flooded my veins with every movement of his hands, of his lips on mine.

My hands found their way to his neck, his chest, his back. His hands followed my own, tracing my torso as if it was made from the most delicate glass. I ran my hands through his hair a couple of times, wondering vaguely if it was possible for it to look any worse than it normally did. 

My fingers grasped his. He was cold to the touch.

Every part of him seemed to be cold. He was sculpted marble; solid, soft, and beautiful all at once. I felt oddly warm in comparison. I wondered if he thought the same.

Some time later, when we stepped apart, I looked at him with my eyebrows furrowed. I fixed my hair, sorted it out of my eyes, and adjusted my t-shirt. I told him his hair was a mess, and that it kinda suited him that way. Then I spun on my heel and began to walk away. Friendships were encouraged between gangs, but romance was dangerous.

I'd had to fight to keep the smirk off of my face when I heard him start after me. "Tara! Where you goin'?" His voice was an octave or two higher than usual. It was almost cute.

My pulse roared in my ears, and as a shadow crossed my vision, a wide grin split my lips.

"Back to the meeting, why?" I didn't slow down any, and neither did I turn back towards him. My lips were tingling from where moments ago they'd touched his. I still felt electrically charged, both pushed away from Bow and drawn to him at the same time. 

"You didn't think we'd catch you?" I ran my thumb across the back of Bow's hand.

"Huh. Well, d'you know there's another hallway up here?" That was when I turned around, to fix him with another frown. He continued, "Yeah, its got loads a graffiti in it, better than this shit." He nodded towards the wall. 

"Thinking you could steal from our fucking convoys?" His eyes were open and empty. I looked into them anyway.

By then, he'd caught up to me, and grabbed my wrist in his hand. "You gotta see it. There's plenty down there you're gonna wanna see," There was a playful glint in his eye that just about made the decision for me. I could taste him on my lips.

"You Dallas bastards just don't fucking learn." The click of a bullet slotting into it's chamber. 

"Is that so?" I looked at him then, looked right into Bow's eyes, and said the words that led me into this mess in the first place. "If I gotta see it, then I gotta see it." 

Bang.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would've kept walking. Maybe then, things wouldn't have been quite so bad.