Trigger warnings : Mentions of self harm, suicide, depression, panic attacks, injury, blood

"I'm so sorry," Andy says to Dr Hicks. "Remington, he gets confused. Because of the memory loss, you know? It was much worse a couple months ago. He was scared of everyone. Me, his brothers, his doctor. Everyone. It's much better now."

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. It's overwhelming enough for non-brain damaged people to talk to a therapist for the first time. Please make sure he knows he did well today."

Andy nods. "Of course. Thank you."

Dr Hicks steps out the door. "I'll see you both next week. Take care."

"Again, I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be. Have a nice week."

Andy makes tea once Dr Hicks has left, finding Remington in his podcast room staring at an old band shirt he had framed. "Hey, love," he says, sitting beside him and handing him a mug of tea. "You okay?"

Remington looks at the drink and doesn't answer.

"It's okay, y'know? Panic attacks are normal. I have them sometimes, too."

"It's not that."

"No?"

Remington shakes his head.

"What's wrong, huh?"

He puts the drink down on the carpet beside him and shrugs.

Andy frowns. "What is it?"

"It's just..."

"Just what, love?"

"Just...the house...it isn't...it isn't safe anymore." He plays with his fingers and shrugs.

"Oh, sweetheart. Because of Dr Hicks?"

"I don't who that is," he mumbles.

"The man who was here."

Remington shrugs.

"Because of him, yeah? That's why the house isn't safe anymore?"

He, again, shrugs.

Andy puts his drink down. "I'm sorry it's making you so upset, love, I am."

"Then...then why didn't you make him leave?"

"Because he drove a long way, love. I couldn't just make him leave ten minutes after he arrived."

"Well then you're not safe anymore, either," Remington mumbles, crossing his arms and looking the other way. "Go please."

"You can't just sit here all day."

"What should I be doing? Having more panic attacks? Crying into you like a baby?" He sighs. "You were safe, and now you're not. So go."

Andy gets up, leaves the room without saying anything. He puts his head in his hands and sits like that in the kitchen, eventually getting up to make dinner. Remington is still in the same place when he goes to tell him dinner is ready.

Dinner is awkward. Remington refuses to talk and Andy doesn't know what to say to eliminate the tension between them, and he isn't even sure what he did wrong. After eating, Remington goes back to where he was before, in the podcast room.

Andy puts the plates in the dishwasher and picks up his phone, quickly looking through his thousands of notifications before putting it down and going through to the living room. Then he goes upstairs and sits in the bathroom with a razor in his hand, staring at it like it could answer the seven mysteries of the world. "Oh, shit," he whispers, angry at himself, when he draws the first beads of blood from his wrist.

He knew the line between being okay and not okay was a fine one, with gaps, but he didn't know it was this fine.

After six more cuts, he finally drops the blade in this sink and turns around, freezing because Remington is stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall to relieve his hip, unable to tear his eyes from the blood. Andy closes his eyes and puts two fingers between his eyes.

"You did that," Remington says. His voice is shaky. "Andy, you...you just did that." He continues looking at the man's arm. "You...why would you...Andy?"

"Listen, Remington, it's hard to explain."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's complicated."

Remington furrows his brows. "Complicated? It looks pretty clear to me, Andy. You just cut your arm on purpose. How is that complicated?"

"It just is."

"Then why? Why would you do that? Why, Andy?" He sounds scared, Andy realises.

The man sits on the closed toilet seat and shakes his head. "It's complicated," he repeats weakly. "It's just...it's really complicated." Andy drops his head into his hands. "Listen, Remington, I'm sorry for earlier. For making you feel unsafe and everything, it wasn't my intention at all. And I'm sorry you had to walk in on this. And I wish I could make it make sense, but honestly, I can't, not even to myself, never mind to someone else."

"Andy, did you...did you do this before?"

"Before?"

"Before. After my accident. And no one would tell me what had happened, that you had tried to...tried to kill yourself."

"Remington..."

"Please don't lie to me. Everyone lies to me."

"Yes. I tried to kill myself after your accident."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

Andy shakes his head. "Remington, please..."

"Why would you want to kill yourself, Andy? And why...why would you cut yourself like this? I don't understand."

"It's so complicated, Remington, please," Andy tries, hoping Remington drops the subject.

"Are you...are you going to try again?" Remington asks. "To kill yourself?"

"I don't know."

"Please don't."

Andy lifts his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm all over the place."

Remington sits on the floor.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"Mad at you? Why? Oh, 'cause of that man? No, Andy. No."

"Good."

"Sorry I was mad."

"It's okay, I get it. I need to clean up. Did you need the bathroom?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. But I can wait. Probably."

Andy reaches for the toilet roll and gets up. "Here, so you don't piss your pretty pants." He dampens the tissue and dabs the blood on his arm with it, moving to let Remington past and frowning at his limp, which seems worse than usual. "How's your hip?" He then asks. "It must be sore."

"My hip? I don't know."

"You know what your hip is?"

"Uh..."

Andy smiles at this. He continues dabbing at his arm carefully until Remington has flushed the toilet, only then saying, "come over here and I'll show you what it is."

Remington does. Andy hugs him from behind, swaying slowly and kissing his shoulder.

"This," the man mumbles, "is your hip." He touches Remington's non-broken hip. "The other one is the one that's been hurt. Does it hurt now?"

"Yes, it hurts," the younger answers. "You try walking up, uh...up stairs when one half of your body doesn't agree with it."

Andy hums. "You know, there is a bathroom downstairs, love. It's a little cluttered at the moment, we don't normally use it much. But I can tidy it, so you don't have to go up and down."

"Okay."

"Now, wash your hands."

"I don't know what that is," Remington jokes, "maybe you should show me."

"Mm, sure. Give me your hands."

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you are gonna do it again, you know you can talk to me. I might not understand all the time, but you always did it for me, didn't you? When we were younger. All the time, you did it for me."

"Thank you."