Trigger warning - talk of suicide, eating disorders

It's the last morning in the hospital for Remington, who's leaving this afternoon. Right now, he's sitting opposite Abigail and his doctor and Andy is beside him. "Okay, Remington," the doctor begins, "me and Abigail have had a long conversation regarding your condition, your job, and everything that'll be adjusted in order for you to make a safe recovery."

Remington stays quiet, waits for him to continue.

"Recovery from a heart attack usually takes between two and twelve months. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. Depending on your body, your mental state, and your day-to-day routine. Now, because of your eating disorder and the fact you're severly underweight, your self harm tendencies, and your weak immune system, a safe recovery for you is gonna take longer. I'd predict around two years until you'll be able to fully resume your life style."

"Two years?" Remington asks, not happy with that. "Does that mean I won't be able to play shows for two years?"

"It'd be really quite dangerous for you to engage in such physically demanding activities like that with how your body is at the moment. I can't say what it'd be like in two years but I can tell you that you're gonna have to put at least a temporary stop to performing until your heart is strong enough to support you fully."

Andy squeezes the younger's hand. "Would singing be out of the question, too?" The man asks, voicing Remington's thoughts.

The doctor shakes his head. "Singing is perfectly fine. As long as you don't start feeling like you're having trouble breathing, it's absolutley fine to sing."

"Okay, good," Remington breathes.

"We've written up a meal plan for you to follow. It's very vague, just to ensure that you're having enough fruit, veg, protein, and so on. It's not something for you to obsess over and what we don't want is for you to count calories. That will become very counter-productive. It's just to help you and Andy keep on track of what you need each day so that your body can function and heal, okay?"

Remington nods.

"Abigail is proposing that you see her three times a week so she can be sure you're talking about everything, and she's gonna prescribe you medication to help you with your eating disorder. You two can discuss all this and she can answer any questions in your next session. Andy, I suggest you shuffle around your schedule so you're able to be at home with Remington as much as you can."

"I can do that," Andy says.

"Will I have another heart attack?" Remington asks, fearful.

The doctor sighs. "If you don't follow your recivery plan and improve on the way you're lookng after your body, then the possibilty is there, yes. That's why these first few weeks are vital. Another heart attack could kill you."

Remington looks down.

"Now, we're gonna leave you to collect all your things together and change out of the gown, I'll check you over, and then you're free to go. You need to book an appointment for next week so we can make sure your health isn't declining once you've been at home for a couple of days."

"Okay."

The doctor stands up. "Make sure you've got everything and there's a bag for the gown. I'll see you in a few hours." He and Abigail leave the room and Remington puts his head in his hands.

"I'm gonna die," he groans, not believeing that he'll be able to properly recover.

Andy rubs his shoulder. "Chin up, kitty, you're gonna do great."

"I'm not," Remington whines, standing up and throwing Harley, who he found in the bathroom, at Andy. "Should just go drown myself in the sink," he mumbles, half to himself, and pulls the gown over his head, thankful that the tube was taken out last night.

"Positive thoughts, angel, positive thoughts. If it's any help, your skin is very glowy today."

The boy rolls his eyes.

Andy smiles. He sits Harley on the end of the bed. "It sounds managable, don't you think?"

Remington picks up his tracksuit bottoms, shaking them out while speaking. "Easier said than done," he responds, stepping into the clothes. "I just want it all to leave me alone and let me be a normal damn man." He lies on his back on the bed and touches his ribs.

"Put your hoodie on, sweetie."

"I want your hoodie."

"Alright. Put my hoodie on, sweetie," Andy says, taking it off.

The boy sits up. "I still think you should go to America."

"And I think I know I'm not going. Hoodie, here."

"Why won't you talk about it?" Remington asks in a baby voice, catching the hoodie and pulling it over his head.

Andy chooses not to answer. He doesn't really have an answer.

The younger sighs. "I know you're sad because you're here and they're gone and you wish you were with them and I won't love you any less for going with them, Andy."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Andy mumbles.

"I know, but you need to."

"Remington, please. I can't do this. Just drop it, okay?"

Looking at Andy and frowning, the boy just wishes he could persuade him to go, to not be so worried about leaving him here. "Are you suicidal?" He asks unexpectedly, and Andy raises his eyebrows. "No, seriously. Are you?"

"Rem..."

"No, please. Just tell me."

Andy looks away, knowing he can't avoid this. "Look, it's not a big deal." It's all he can think of to back out of actually answering the question.

Remington knows what Andy is doing. He's done it himself. "It is, Andy, it is a big deal. Please don't drown in it all on your own."

"I'm not drowning."

"It's okay if you are."

"Well I'm not, so..."

The younger shakes his head. "Andy..."

Running his hands over his face, Andy closes his eyes, exhales heavily.

"Talk to me, Andy, please."

"I was gonna kill myself," Andy says, after a moment of quiet. "The day you had the heart attack. I was gonna overdose."

Remington plays with his fingers.

"And again. Today. In the car." He looks down, realises how releaving it feels to finally say it outloud. "Because you're right, okay? My dream has literally just be wripped from me and I don't know how to fucking deal with it."

"You've gotta go to America. You can't put yourself through this. I won't let you. Please, Andy, get on a plane and be in your band and just...be happy. I'll still be right here and I'll still love you."

Andy sighs heavily. What if Remington is right?