“I'm not asking you to ignore it. I'm asking you to remember that he's more than his condition, and your relationship is more than a medical crisis.” Jake stood up and moved toward the kitchen. “When's the last time you cooked him dinner just because you wanted to, not because you were monitoring his nutritional intake for episode triggers?”
“I'm so scared, Jake. I'm scared he's going to keep getting worse until there's nothing left of the person I fell in love with.”
“That's valid. But you can't prevent that possibility by researching yourself into the ground and treating him like a medical case instead of your partner.” Jake returned from the kitchen with a concerned expression. “There's nothing in your fridge but condiments and beer. When did you last grocery shop?”
“I don't remember.”
“Right. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to shower and eat actual food and sleep for more than four hours. Then you're going to figure out how to love Finn without trying to cure him.” Jake's voice was firm but caring. “Because right now, you're not helping him. You're just creating two people who need rescue instead of one.”
After Jake left, River stood in the wreckage of his life and realized his friend was absolutely right. He looked like hell, felt worse, and most importantly, he'd been treating the person he loved not like a partner, but like a puzzle to decode.
First, the shower. He stripped in the hallway, leaving clothes in a trail that felt symbolic. When he stepped under the hot spray, he stood still for a long moment, letting the water sting his skin. He used shampoo, actually scrubbed his scalp until he felt like a person again. He washed his body slowly, letting his hands move over sore muscles, rinsing away the nights spent hunched over data and fear.
Then food. There were groceries on the counter—Jake's doing—and River opened the bag with something like reverence. He found pasta, sauce, real vegetables. He chopped onions, added garlic, let the scent fill the kitchen like warmth returning to an old house. When he plated the meal, it wasn't survival—it was care.
He sat down at the small table, lit a candle, and ate each bite slowly. Not multitasking, not reading, not thinking. Just eating. When he finished, he washed the dishes because he wanted to live in a space that felt like life was being lived here.
That's when Finn found him.
He stood in the doorway, the golden spill of the lighthouse beam catching in his hair, and just looked at River.
“You look...” Finn's voice was hoarse, quiet. “You look like yourself again.”
River turned, drying his hands. He hadn't even realized he'd been smiling.
“Jake staged an intervention. Apparently, I was disappearing into your crisis instead of just being present for it.”
Finn stepped closer, slowly, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed. River met him halfway.
“I'm sorry,” he said, taking Finn's hands. “I've been treating you like a problem to solve instead of a person to love.”
Finn's fingers tightened. “I missed you. The real you. Not the research-obsessed version.”
River cupped his face, holding it like something worth protecting.
“I love you,” he said, voice steady now. “Not your brain. Not your condition. Not the mystery of what's happening to you. Just... you.”
Finn's eyes filled with tears. “I love you too. So much that watching you try to save me has been breaking my heart.”
They kissed, tentative at first, a remembering. The kiss deepened slowly, as if they were relearning each other's language. River pulled Finn closer, and Finn came willingly, pressing against him with quiet urgency.
“Bedroom?” River asked, breathless.
Finn nodded. “Please.”
The walk down the hallway felt like a sacred procession. River turned down the covers with intention. The room glowed dimly, golden shadows cast by the lighthouse beam circling like a slow heartbeat across the walls.
They undressed each other with reverence. River peeled away Finn's shirt, baring the pale stretch of his chest. He bent and pressed a kiss to Finn's sternum, then lower, letting his lips chart every inch like a map he never wanted to forget again. Finn's fingers trembled as he unfastened River's pants, pulling them down carefully.
River reached into the nightstand drawer for lube, setting it beside them. No rush. No assumption. His gaze searched Finn's face. “Okay?”
Finn nodded and leaned in, whispering against River's mouth, “Yes. Please.”
They touched without hesitation now. River let his hands roam over the familiar terrain of Finn's body—his chest, his sides, the curve of his waist. When he slipped a hand between them, cupping Finn's cock, it was gentle and exploratory. Finn moaned, soft and desperate, rocking into his hand.
River slicked his fingers with lube, warming it before trailing lower. Finn opened for him without needing to be asked, knees parting as he pulled River close. River kissed him while his hand explored, fingers circling Finn's hole, teasing gently. When he slid one inside, Finn gasped—soft, sharp, wanting.
River took his time. One finger, then two, slowly working him open with careful, loving strokes. He murmured praise between kisses—how good he was doing, how beautiful he looked like this, how much he loved him.
