Trigger warning - Mentions of self harm, eating disorders, suicide

Sebastian paces Emerson's living room. "I can't believe that just happened," he says, "honestly, I'd be surprised if he ever spoke to us again."

"It's not our fault," Emerson insists, "we didn't ask for Sumerian to drop us."

"No, but we were talking about it while he was in the bathroom."

Emerson puts his head in his hands. "Will you stop pacing?"

"Emerson, Remington just found out our record label dropped us while he was having a panic attack in the bathroom! Why isn't this stressing you the fuck out?"

"How the fuck is pacing gonna help?"

Sebastian sighs. "Do you know how much he doesn't trust us, Em? He'd rather have a panic attack in the bathroom on his own than in the same room that we're in. And now he knows our band has no record deal!"

"It's not the end of the world, Sebastian."

"No? Wanna go say that to Remington's face? See how he responds."

Remington Biersack: No record deal, no happiness, no self-love. What do I have, you ask? Good question.

Sebastian shoves his phone in Emerson's face, showing him their brother's recent tweet. "See? He's broken, Emerson! We broke him!"

"He did that himself!"

"Emerson! You can't say that!"

"It's true!"

Sebastian closes his eyes and shakes his head.

In the hospital, Remington flat out refuses to talk to his doctor, not even looking at the food that's brought for him at lunch.

"You need to eat," Dr Halls says, after coming in to check the boy has had the lunch and discovering that he hasn't.

Remington doesn't respond, he just looks at his fingers.

"You need to recover, Remington, and that involves eating when you don't want to."

The boy forces himself not to cry.

"You don't need to have it all, okay. But at least have a bit."

"Fucking fuck off," Remington mumbles, angry, mostly at himself. "Just...not today, please."

"You'll never recover if you don't eat, even on bad days."

Remington hides his face in his hands. "I literally would happily die right now." He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It's-I-there's-fuck, why the fuck is it so fucking hard?" Heart beats fast, makes his eyes teary. "I can't eat. I can't. Not now, please. Please not now."

"Remington-"

"No! No! I can't! I can't! And you-you can't make me!"

"Deep breath, it's okay."

Remington turns onto his front and digs his face into the bed sheets. "No, it's not. It's not okay. It's not okay. It's not okay. It's not...I'm not...I want Andy. I want Andy, please. Please, I need Andy. Please..."

Later, after sobbing while eating lunch, Remington lies on his side, knees curled into his chest, fingers feeling for the bones which he hates that he finds comfort in. His eyes burn with the aftermath of hot tears and the boy just wants to turn off his emotions, or have a hug; ideally both.

When there's a knock on the door he half-heartedly, wealkly, tells whoever it is to come in, not looking up to see who it is. It's only when he hears the words, "hi, sweetheart," that he snaps his head up and sobs all at the same time. He holds out his arms like a child asking to be picked up and Andy does just that. "Oh kitten," the man whispers, "bad day, huh?"

Remington nods and Andy sways slowly.

"I'm so sorry I left. I should've known we wouldn't manage." He sits on the bed and strokes Remington's cheeks.

The boy wipes his eyes and sniffles. "'s not your fault," he murmers, leaning into Andy. "Andy, I think I'm just-like-destined to fail. 'cause I just-everything I do just goes so wrong."

"Oh no, kitty. That's not true. There's nothing wrong with having a bad day, you know?"

"But it's not a bad day, it's a bad fucking life!"

"Hey hey, look at me." He kisses Remington's forehead. "You are battling so much right now and, sweetie, you are allowed to not be feeling all sparkly and magical, okay? You're allowed to feel like you're at the bottom of a very very dark hole. You're still my Remington, and you wanna know something about my Remington?" He kisses his husband's head again. "My Remington is the best damn person anyone could ever know, and my Remington is so fucking brave and so fucking strong and, not that he would ever believe this, but my Remington is so damn gorgeous, and so damn worthy of all the good things in the world. And I love my Remington."

Teary, the boy takes Andy's hand and traces the lines in his palm. "I don't love your Remington," he whispers, "I don't love him at all."

"I know, baby boy. And that's okay. One day you will love my Remington. You'll love him just as much as I love him. And do you know how much that is?" He ruffles the younger's hair. "This much," he says, and holds his arms out. It makes Remington smile and that makes Andy smile.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. I'm so glad to be back."

"Sumerian dropped us," Remington says, "because I can't do anything right."

"Did you not hear anything I just said?" Andy teases.

Remington whines. "I just don't know how to be positive when no one wants my band anymore." He takes Andy's hand again. "And I can't even have one meal without crying or having a panic attack and it sucks, Andy. It fucking sucks. And now I feel bad because I keep dumping everything on you when you already hurt yourself because of me."

Andy shakes his head. "That was not because of you. That was because of the lack of you, Remington. Because I needed you and you weren't there. I always want you to tell me how you're feeling, angel, you know that."

The boy looks down.

"Sumerian dropped you? On no, I'm so sorry. You know another record label will jump on the chance to sign your band, angel."

"I hope so."

"Gimme a kiss."

Remington does, pulling away and smiling. "Can you stay here tonight?"

"I don't think your doctor will allow that, princess."

"My doctor sucks. He makes me eat."

Andy chuckles, playing with his lover's hair. "It's gettin' long," he observes, "it's pretty."

The younger feels at peace, for perhaps the first time since he got here.