Page 46 of Evermore

Finn rocked back onto his fingers, hungry now. “River,” he whispered. “I want you. Please.”

River pressed their foreheads together, catching his breath. Then he lubed his cock and lined himself up, hand steady on Finn's hip.

“Tell me if you need anything.”

“I just need you,” Finn said, and pulled him in.

The first push was slow, a stretch that made Finn groan and bite his lip. River kissed his temple, whispering soft reassurances, waiting until Finn gave a tiny nod before sliding in deeper.

It was slow. Reassuring. Not just sex but something deeper—like they were piecing each other back together one stroke at a time. River moved in long, careful thrusts, watching the way Finn's face softened, how his eyes fluttered shut in bliss.

Finn wrapped his legs around River's waist, meeting every thrust with desperate grace. Their mouths found each other again and again, kissing through moans and quiet gasps, hands tangling, hearts pounding in sync.

When Finn came, it was with River's name on his lips, voice breaking into a sound that felt like release and forgiveness all at once.

River followed moments later, burying himself deep and shuddering as pleasure took him. He collapsed against Finn,careful not to crush him, and they lay there tangled, breath coming in heavy, grateful pulls.

The lighthouse beam rotated across the ceiling, a slow rhythm of light and dark.

Finn curled into River's chest, one hand tracing slow circles over his ribs.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thank you for not giving up on us when I forgot how to be present.” River's arms tightened around Finn. “I promise to do better. To love you more and try to fix you less.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, River slept for eight straight hours without dreaming about research or medical journals. He just slept, peaceful and grounded, with the person he loved safe in his arms.

The next few days brought a different kind of crisis, one that felt less medical and more like something out of a paranoid thriller. River started noticing things that seemed insignificant individually but formed a disturbing pattern when considered together.

Power outages during important conversations with Finn. Equipment malfunctions when they were making progress understanding his condition. Subtle rearrangements in the cottage that suggested someone had been inside while they were away—books moved slightly on shelves, papers reordered in ways that preserved their apparent organization while disrupting River's actual system.

“Am I losing my mind, or does it feel like someone's watching us?” River asked Finn one afternoon, noting how his laptop haddeveloped a mysterious glitch that corrupted files related to his research.

“You're not losing your mind,” Finn said, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who'd been dealing with reality distortions for months. “I've been feeling it too. Like there's someone else in our story, someone who doesn't want us to figure out what's happening.”

River couldn't shake the feeling that they were being manipulated by someone who understood Finn's condition better than they did, someone who had reasons for preventing them from developing effective treatments.

The universe had different plans for their attempt at domestic normalcy. River was pulled from sleep around midnight by Finn talking in his sleep, but not the confused muttering that usually accompanied his episodes. This was conversation, clear and directed, as if he were responding to someone River couldn't see.

“I know you're worried about the research,” Finn said, his voice carrying the tone of someone continuing a long-standing discussion. “But Dr. Voss isn't trying to help. She's trying to document the condition for her own purposes.”

River lay still, listening to one side of a conversation that seemed to be taking place between Finn and some version of himself that had access to information the conscious Finn didn't possess.

“River's trying so hard to fix everything, but he doesn't understand that some things can't be fixed, only managed.” Finn's voice was sad but affectionate. “He loves me enough to destroy himself trying to save me, but that's not what I need from him.”

River felt his chest tighten with recognition—Finn was articulating concerns they'd discussed earlier, but with a clarity and perspective that suggested deeper understanding than his conscious mind seemed to possess.

“The interference isn't random,” Finn continued, his voice growing more urgent. “Someone's actively working to prevent us from understanding what's really happening. But they're not trying to hurt us—they're trying to protect us from making things worse.”

The conversation continued for another ten minutes, with Finn responding to questions and comments from someone River couldn't hear, discussing their relationship and his condition with insights that went far beyond what his waking mind could access. When Finn finally fell silent, returning to normal sleep, River lay awake wondering what the hell was happening to the person he loved.

“How are you feeling?” River asked over coffee the next morning, studying Finn's face for signs of exhaustion.

“Better, actually. Like I slept really well for the first time in weeks.” Finn smiled, and River's heart broke a little at how genuine and peaceful he looked. “Thank you for just holding me last night. It felt nice to be close without you analyzing everything.”

River nodded and smiled back, not mentioning the hours of conversation Finn had carried out with invisible participants. Because maybe Jake was right about needing to love Finn as he was instead of obsessing over what his condition meant.

But as they prepared for another day of trying to build a relationship alongside an impossible medical mystery, River couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time to figure out what was really happening before Finn's episodes progressed beyond the point where any kind of normal life was possible.

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