2. Personal Warfare.

Twenty-two minutes after leaving the Pearl Grove Memorial, River enters the relative calm of his small, rundown apartment. Its decor is second-hand furniture, displays of amateur art, plastered in every corner, or standing on an easel. The two-bedroom, one-bath apartment is spotless except for River, the only other case of disarray against the washed out, but immaculate space. The paved tile floors cool his feet after he kicks his shoes off to free himself of its restraints.

River releases his messy bun and whisks his curls out of his eyes. He takes a few awkward and pained steps towards the dark green, floral couch, sitting in the middle of the room, across from an out-of-place smart tv.

The small, but frail, rectangular table sitting between the couch and the television set becomes River's only moment of peace when he crosses his feet atop it. Slowed by his own weariness, River rubs his pale knees with delicate, defined arms. A futile attempt to soothe the soreness from his twelve-hour shift. He slings off his shirt, revealing the entirety of his milky, flawless skin. Along the line of his right shoulder, a tattoo with a Chinese inscription reveals itself. On his chest, faint scar lines fading into nothingness speak of a past he more than likely buried.

His eyes close, and for a second, he experiences tranquillity until a loud clang in the kitchen echoes throughout the apartment. River's eyes fly open, heart palpitating in his chest when the sound ricochets off the walls.

"You blasted idiot!" James Bordeaux, River's boyfriend, and art prodigy, curses from the kitchen.

"That's not good," he leaps from the couch and approaches the staircase. "James?" No answer comes. Just deafening silence. Which could only mean that James silently laments his current dilemma. River climbs the stairs with throbbing feet and turns right into a wide walkway.

He stops short when he sees the tall, sculpted James Bordeaux. A young man with pleasant looks and sharp cheekbones. He stands over a small bucket of red oil paint. The fume-filled liquid had spattered in an artful pattern, claiming the wooden cupboards below the two-sided sink with the muddle.

"Huh. Even whilst screwing up, you make art. You're ready for your first showing." River comments, crossing his arms over his toned chest. James ruffles his tight symmetrical waves and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Are you ok?" He questions and the man slumps but remains a giant in the small, cluttered, and cosy kitchen.

A gruff frown contorts James' smooth features and onyx eyes scowl at the blood-red, bright tint that leaves speckles of paint across the old cupboard doors. "Are they ready, is the question." James grimaces at his stained toes, then takes two steps back to check the soles of his feet.

"You're ready." River grins, nodding to confirm his support. "I don't think you're ready for that though." River chuckles and James frowns, but he glances up and his eyes bulge, but only for a fraction of a second.

"River! Goddammit, won't you put on a bloody shirt!" James exclaims frowning. "My friends will be here any minute."

"You've never had a problem with me being shirtless around your friends before." River's left eyebrow raises, a request for an answer in his grey eyes.

Bewildered, James notices the tone of his voice and hampers down on his thoughts to avoid letting his frustrations affect him. Years had passed since he'd been beside River, but him leaving only meant parting ways, even if not permanently. Both boyish men were prominent in their studies. They needed each other, just like they had twelve years ago when they met facing bullies.

They'd encountered demons, slew dragons, and walked with angels together so nothing could prepare them for serious adulthood― Careers that would pull them apart after their lives had changed. The reason a flat-screen television, a little too expensive, a smidgen too fancy for their cosy but budgeted apartment plays the intro for an upcoming soccer game.

"That is only because I will not be here to protect you from my perverted friends." James muses, to lighten the mood-to lie and freely.

"My hero. That's nice, but let's talk about Montague Studios." River clasps both hands together, then watches as James runs back and forth in frantic disarray. Grabbing tools of his trade, to remedy a situation that only got worse with every second he wastes. "They have the best opportunities... and the numbers for artists like you."

"Leave it to you to run their numbers by researching them to completion on the internet." James shakes his head, not at all surprised at River's boldness. But it was always that way. They both thrived on that dynamic, as it had kept them both in check for all the years, they'd known each other.

"They're the biggest promoters of amateur art globally." James had already gotten to work with a rag and bottle of paint remover, by the time River's statement was over.

"I can never find those things." River's eyebrows conjoin in the centre of his forehead, showing his confusion. He then gestures to the rag and paint remover in James' hand and the young man chuckles, still a little miffed.

"This is an art student's version of a fire extinguisher. It's always lying around." He grins this time. "Anything else, or do you plan to help me before we have another infraction?" James begs, black orbs pleading.

River scoffs at his weary-faced mate, reminded that he needed rest for the next day to come. Another five hours at the pizza joint, and the next few hours of daylight searching for a second job. His reason for being paranoid sparked by James' branching out. River too was on his own path, yet the road before included James and they built it on the note of sticking together.

After finding his actual parents, and digging deeper into his work and schooling, James had tons of superior options after college. With an influence he'd only had for a year, everything threatened and brought about a change that River coped with. He lived with the fact that his best friend and lover could leave at any time to bless the world with his art. To leave him to his own daring career, which was being threatened by a technological apparition.

"I'll get the gloves." River groans, back slumping as he slinks away from the door and disappears around the left corner of the kitchen.

James gets back to work, crawling towards the refrigerator, the second most decent piece of an electrical appliance in the small, stuffy apartment.

"God, I love that man." He smiles to himself as he wipes at the floor with inpatient intensity.

―

"Fine, I'll do it my damned self, arse." James bursts into their bedroom ten minutes later with an adorable and aggrieved frown on his face.

River sits around his computer, in the immaculate room, with common decor. Jolted, he slams his laptop shut then turns to James with a nervous grin. "I was just checking this month's budget plan." He shrugs at James, who leans against the doorway-suspicion in his cynical eyes.

"You did that this morning before work." James' smile fades and worry changes his features.

"I did, but I didn't factor in you leaving for six months."

"River, I still live here, and I'll still cover my end of the rent."

"I know that." River gives a nervous chuckle. But he couldn't convince James.

"Fine. If you want to talk about Montague, let's talk about bloody Montague." James senses the tension in the air, the constrained feeling in his chest that surmounts every day until River returns home.

"We should talk about Cassie." River plunges any pleasant mood into an abyss, and James grows displeased. "We've avoided it long enough and now that you're leaving, I feel like the chance to do so is almost out of reach."

"Two minutes ago, you wanted to talk about the art studio, now you want to talk about Cassie?" James' frown highlights his eyes and darkens them. He hated the subject, and he hated the implications that came with them after what they'd both been through concerning the topic.

"She-," River pauses, then averts his gaze when bitter bile rises in his throat. "She loves you. You loved her, and now she's carrying your child."

"I thought I loved her." James challenges, but River scoffs, dismissing the notion that he could tell the truth. "Also, Cassie carrying my child means nothing more than that." His promise doesn't sound clear. It was hollow and whispered haunting insecurities inside River's head.

He stands and faces James with a determined gaze, then says. "You went back to her, then got her pregnant, James. I know we're taking a break, to see if things would work out, but there has been little progress."

"It upset me; she was always there for me! You know that I liked her ability to listen, and I didn't go back because I thought I made some bloody mistake with you." James is frantic, shaking with angst as he didn't like to bring up such a sensitive topic.

River loved James, loved the man he became after realizing how strong their love was, and what it meant. They'd been best friends longer than they were lovers, yet that always implied having its complications. Adding sex to the equation of their relationship was only the beginning for them both, and after six months, things seemed bleak. Their break was going on for a year, and though things seemed normal, reality hovered. Haunting River, covering him under an ominous cloud of despair and paranoia.

"I regretted it," River admits, still not bothered by his assessment or the many ways an argument could go wrong. James appears shocked because he pales at that revelation and his heart rate rises. "I regretted that I kissed you that night, and I hated that she blamed me for breaking you guys up." His confession takes an immediate toll on James, who walks forward, and in two strides, hovers over River. "It was even harder to deal with when you went back to her, now she's pregnant and you both spend a lot more time together than you did when you guys dated."

"I don't like how things ended either and we might have made a mistake, but the only thing I regret was lying about it instead of just coming clean." James' voice grows heavy, but only because he felt the same about the situation as River. "I should have come clean to you."

"I think you know why I'm nervous, but you don't want to face it." River asserts, still quite shaken and afraid. "You don't even want to admit that your life is changing, and you might not have room for me anymore." The words cut through him, but James couldn't deny the reality they'd faced.

"River." He whispers then proceeds with a sigh. "We only did what we both knew was right." James tries, desperate for River to not feel guilty because of his actions.

"Life is like chess, James. It has infinite outcomes."

"Cassie cheated on me, River. I had already broken up with her when I suspected, but confirming it was heart breaking."

"I know. You spent a year in England on some crusade to find your parents, then came back after leaving me with a million questions. We can both admit that things have not been the same since last year either." James tries to look away from River, but the insistent callow man beckons him to look him in the eyes. "You went back to her. All of this? Is because of that. You loved her; she broke your heart. I didn't pick up the pieces, I just opened my legs, and it became something else for you to distract yourself with but, you are still that person. Self-destructive, but with good enough intentions and it was hard to forgive you but that I did, out of love."

"Cassie was a mistake from the beginning." James shakes his head, refusing to believe they weren't quick enough.

"She might have been, but you loved her. That kind of love was enough to prompt you back into her bed the second she showed up after our fight." River reminds James of the day he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

"You're overthinking things, River, this isn't some fling. We've both denied our feelings ever since we were old enough to understand them."

"Still missing the goddamn point!" River shakes, clasping both hands before his face before he lets out a heavy sigh. "James. I hate this space as much as you do, but it is helpful. You're running off to England, right when things seem to be getting better w-with us." River turns away, hiding his flushed cheeks and irritated eyes.

He didn't enjoy complaining when things didn't go his way. He felt guilty for wanting to ask James not to up and leave any at all, even with his promises of an uncertain return. They'd just begun exploring parts of their relationship they'd both grown apprehensive in pursuing. Breaking down walls, reinforced by years of knowing each other's personalities and habits.

"I love you, River, and I'm sorry, but I won't let you blame yourself for what happened between me and Cassie." James cups River's cheeks, forcing the shorter man to peer up into his eyes.

"I won't deny that I blame myself." River still frowns, but the look of adoration he sees in James' eyes weakens his defences and the hold on his partner's face.

"A year had passed, you kissed me after one too many shots and things got weird, but it was good, weird." James grins, but River raises an eyebrow when he turns to look at him.

"Not very comforting." River shakes his head and purses his lips.

"Maybe this will convince you." James presses harder against River's chest, then captures his tempting, pink lips between his. Both affected by the kiss, River, and James find escape in the bliss of what could be or what could happen if they didn't stop.

That much none of them could deny, after one faithful night, when what they did not think was possible, became just the opposite. Exploring what more could happen when their bodies react at that moment. The way it did then.

A moan escapes River's lips between wet, tempting kisses, but he pushes against James' chest, prompting him to stop. "No, James, we're supposed to be figuring things out and we both know what happens when you kiss me like that. Besides, you smell like paint." River frowns, unable to help the warm feeling that creeps inside his body as James holds him close.

"I think that's just paint remover." James shrugs, intertwining his fingers that curl around River's waist.

"Potato, tomato." River does his signature lopsided grin.

James melts in his arms, but his eyebrows scrunch together. "That... makes no sense at all and I don't think that's the term, love." James narrows his gaze, pulling his head away to gaze down at River.

"Just like paint remover and paint almost smelling the same." River smirks.

"They don't. You are scent blind."

"See, I don't think that's how it works either." River turns around and walks towards the bed and sits. "God my feet hurt." River grimaces, rubbing at a sore spot atop his left foot. He frowns as the usual loud squeaking resonates throughout the entire bedroom.

"Since you won't let me eat you, I will get started on dinner. Broccoli or Cabbage?" James' smirk lights up his face.

"Don't think you've avoided the Cassie conversation, James. You kissing me, initiating sex, doesn't abdicate you of sin either." He looks up at James from the bed, a challenging look in his deep browns.

"That wasn't-," miffed that he would even make such an assumption, James sighs and keeps his cool composure. River didn't deserve his frustrations, but they both had a lot of that to go around. "You have nothing to worry about, ok?" James promises, and River watches him with hesitance for a few fleeting seconds.

"I want to believe you, James." River admits aloud. Even if he can't look James in the eye while saying it.

"The boys should be here any minute. Can I make dinner now? I promise I won't break up with you via text, then sneak out the window." James jokes, though it wasn't in wonderful taste and River's frown proves that theory. "Too soon," James says, then disappears from the doorway.

River sighs, thinking long and hard about the predicament he dreaded facing. Two minutes of staring into blank space later, he fishes his phone from his left pocket. Sliding the cracked screen open, hoping to find something interesting. He then checks his emails. A slight twinge of hope inspiriting within him. That hope burst into nauseating angst when he spots a brand recent email in his inbox.

"It's here." River blanches when he sees the subject and name of the sender.

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