twenty two

                                    

                                          
They were sitting in a corner booth in a quiet bar, Italian music playing through the fuzzy radio, the bartender smoking a cigarette by an open window. There were neon signs hung crookedly on the walls, and rows of spirits lined up behind the bar.
                          
"Do you come here a lot?" Mickey asked River, his eyes scanning his surroundings.
                          
River smiled, "I work here."
                          
"Oh." Mickey rose his brows, "You like it?"
                          
River shrugged, "Yeah. It's okay." He crossed his arms on the table, "I've been working in different bars and cafes ever since I left. My parents money only kept me going for so long."
                          
"Well, shit." Mickey breathed, "You've got yourself a whole life out here, haven't you? A job, a flat-"
                          
"A room in a flat." River corrected him, "It's not a life. It's just...something else." His expression saddened, but he quickly rearranged his smile, and stood up, "Wait here. I'll get us some drinks." And he disappeared.
                          
Mickey glanced over his shoulder, watching River murmur something in Italian to the man working behind the bar. The bartender nodded, poured out two glasses of red wine, and handed them to River. When he returned to the table, and handed Mickey the glass, Mickey thanked him, and asked, "How long did it take you to learn Italian?"
                          
"I had to learn pretty quickly." River answered, "I took a class, but being around it twenty four hours a day helped. I'm still not fluent, but I'm getting there."
                          
"I forgot how smart you were."
                          
River rolled his eyes, and lifted his wine glass, "Cheers." The glasses clinked together, and they both took a sip, "I can't believe you're really here." It felt like a dream, sitting across from his best friend, and staring into those familiar eyes he hadn't seen in over a year.
                          
"River?" Mickey ran his fingertip around the rim of the wine glass, "Are you happy?"
                          
"No." He answered straight away, "You wanna know the last time I was happy?" He smiled sadly, "It was that day at the beach. Remember? Just before I found out that Declan cheated on me, and before...Casey..."
                          
Mickey felt a tingle of guilt. He had spent months blaming River for his actions, and refusing to take responsibility for his own. Declan never cheated on River. But could he really own up to that now, after all this time? "That was a good day." He agreed.
                          
"I remember when it got cold, you gave Riley your jacket." River continued softly, "And I was jealous of her. How fucked is that?"
                          
Mickey's brows pulled together in confusion, "You were jealous of Riley?"
                          
River shrugged, "You always used to give me your jacket when it got cold. And for the first time ever, you gave it to someone else. I felt like I was losing you."
                          
"I never loved Riley even half as much as I love you." Mickey said boldly, "River, you're my best friend."
                          
"I know."
                          
"I'll give you as many jackets as you want." Mickey joked, "If that's what it takes to show you that you will never lose me. You left a year ago and you're still my best friend. You can't get rid of me, River, no matter how hard you try."
                          
River chuckled, but it was empty, "I think you're the only person left in the world who I still trust."
                          
Mickey rose his brows, "Really?"
                          
"I have a lot of trust issues now." He continued, "Casey was my friend, and he hurt me. He looked so normal...so harmless." He took a deep breath; it still stung to say his name, "If someone I trusted could do that to me, then anyone could. There's no way to tell the good people from the bad people. And so, I just decided to stop trusting people altogether." He explained, "I never let anyone buy me drinks anymore - unless I watch the bartender make it, I won't drink it. I don't flirt. I don't look at people for too long unless they get the wrong impression. I don't go back to people's houses. I don't have a life, because I'm so terrified of living."