Andrew had many regrets.

When he was a little boy, he used to play with the stray cats and would often try to bite their tails off. He sometimes got beaten when caught attempting to do so. When he was thirteen, a girl asked him out on a date. He could have said he was gay and didn't bat for that team, instead he rejected her, telling things nobody should when declining a date. He made her cry, made her embarrassed in front of their classmates. He did intend to turn her down nicely, but in all honesty, she was getting too close to comfort, managing to mix their breaths in one. He had already had a bad day even before it all went down anyways.

What he regretted the most was staying silent for too long. It cost him the life of his own big brother. He had known he had to say something, anything. But Andrew had found himself watching his sibling dive deeper and deeper into the endless pit of depression. He had seen it coming. He'd had an idea of what was going to happen. And yet, he had kept his mouth shut only because he had been asked not to mention it.

That particular regret was what kept him up at night. He couldn't forgive himself for trying to be ignorant; ignorant of the scars decorating his brother's pale as porcelain skin, spotting from the elbow all the way down to the knees; ignorant of the way he was eating less and less as time passed and eventually stopping it once and for all, ignorant of the countless bruises littering his already pained body.

He hated himself for all of this. He hadn't stopped his favourite person in the world of heading painfully slowly towards his own end.

He couldn't forgive himself for not taking action, for not warning his parents, for not confronting him. He just couldn't.