Trigger warning - Descriptions of self harm, mentions of eating disorders, depression. Sorryyy

He shouldn't have let Remington convince him to go. Andy knows that now, while he's sitting on a plane beside a stranger. Regret. That's what he's feeling. Lots and lots of regret. Your husband is having a crisis, Andy, why are you flying to America?

He wants to tell the pilot to turn around, take him back. Wants to jump out the tiny window and hope he lands on his feet.

The hours pass and, in the American airport, Andy starts feeling really quite sick. Not motion sickness, no, the sort of sickness that one feels when they've made a terrible error. He collects his things from baggage claim and drags it all outside, looking for Lonny, who said he's come and pick him up. While he waits, he checks his phone. There's a voicemail from Sebastian and a few messages from Remington.

Not going well.

Going worse.

Going awful.

Andy holds the phone to his ear to listen to Sebastian's voicemail. "Hi Andy, I realise now that you're probably on the plane and have no service, but I'm just letting you know that me and Emerson went to see Rem this morning. He's definitely been better but he's been worse, too. We're hoping he'll start feeling better once he settles in. How are you?"

The man doesn't have it in him to call the guitarist back. He wonders what time it is for them in England. It's late evening here so he assumes it to be the middle of the night, and prays that Remington is getting some sleep.

Lonny pulls up and gets out the car, greeting Andy and opening the boot for him. "How was the flight?" He asks, taking one of the man's bags.

"Long and boring. Where are you guys staying?"

"Oh, Jake found a house. There's enough rooms for us all so we're living there for now. It might change later on. Here, get in. I've got these."

Andy opens the passenger door and sits down. "Thanks," he mumbles, and texts Remington back.

Wish I was there rn. Missing you.

He gets a reply straight away.
Are u in America now???

Shouldn't u be sleeping? Yes I am.

Can't sleep. What's it like?

Loud. I don't think I like it.

Give it a chance

Go to sleep kitten. I'll call you tomorrow x

No don't go!!

Why not? Are u okay??

No.

Wanna talk? I've got a moment now

Remington doesn't respond after that. Andy sighs. He shouldn't be here.

The journey from the airport is quiet because Andy doesn't know what to say and Lonny can't bring himself to ask how Remington is. He heard what happened and can't help but to wonder why Andy came if the singer is doing so badly.

The house is big and unfamiliar and doesn't feel like home to Andy, who briefly says hello to the others before closing himself in his room and routing through his bag for the packet of razors that he brought with him.

"You fucked up," he whispers to himself; one cut for each word. And again, "you fucked up," accompanied by three more, not deep enough for Andy to be satisfied. "You fucking fucked up." He says it so many times that the words don't sound like words anymore, that his wrist doesn't feel like his anymore, that his heart hurts and his hands shake and, across the ocean, his husband sobs into his pillow.

When it hurts like this, Remington swears he's stuck in a nightmare, tries to convince himself so that it doesn't hurt so much.

"You fucking fucked up," Andy is still repeating, thought it's hardly a whisper anymore. "You fucked up!" This time, he slashes so deep that he thinks he might be sick, shouting that he fucked up louder than he means to.

Someone knocks on the door, asks if he's okay in there. Andy's too caught up to hear. "Andy, mate?" CC calls, knocking again, and when he gets no answer, opens the door. "Oh God...that's a lot of blood. Andy, stop!"

The man can't stop, though. "I fucked up!" He yells, screaming when the drummer grabs his bloody hands to stop him from cutting anymore. "No! I need to! I need to!"

"Calm down," CC tries, and then, "help!"

"Don't need help!" Andy shouts, trying to push CC away.

"You do," the drummer says, fighting to keep the man from bringing the blade down on his arm again. "Calm down, Andy. It's okay. Calm down."

"I fucked up!"

Jake is the first one in the room after hearing CC's shout, gasping and rushing to help stop Andy from doing himself anymore harm. "Jinxx!" He calls, "Lonny! Help!" He manages to get the razor from the singer's hand, tossing it behind him and calling for Jinxx and Lonny again.

Andy keeps kicking, desperate to be left alone witht he blade, screaming and tasting tears.

When the other two dash into the room, the four of them are able to get Andy off the floor and into the large bathroom, wrapping a towel tightly around his arm while Jake calls for an ambulance, the affects of losing so much blood catching up to Andy, who falls against the bathtub in a tragic daze.

"What the fuck happened?" Jinxx asks.

CC sighs. "I honestly don't know."

Hours later, in the hospital, Andy won't talk, won't tell anyone what happened. He lies in the bed and thinks of Remington, no doubt still lying awake.

Andy's right. Remington is lying awake. Tired after crying so much but not able to sleep because he's not at home and Andy isn't here and they're feeding him way too much and he just wants to stop feeling, just for a second or two. To have no thoughts, no pain, no fucked up eating disorder. To just be free from it all.

Free from himself. That's the dream.