Trigger warning : mentions of eating disorders, suicide, depression.

Oh no

Looking up from his new drawing, Remington grins. "Missed you," he says brightly, putting his sketchbook down and kneeling on the bed.

Andy happily picks the boy up. "Missed you too, kitty." He sits on the bed with his husband in his lap. "What've you been up to?"

"Drawing, mostly. I thought Emerson was coming."

"He's gettin' a drink from the vending machine." The man kisses the top of his head. "Your hair's getting real long."

Remington hums. "D'you like it?"

"Of course I do. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I learnt how to plait hair."

Remington laughs.

"So you better let me plait yours. You'd look so cute!" He takes one of the younger's hands. "You're doing so good in here, aren't you?"

"Hope so."

"You seem so much happier than when we were trying to recover at home. It's good to see you cheerful."

"How're you?"

Andy kisses his head again. "Not too bad, angel. I've been writing new songs for my next solo album."

Smiling, Remington turns around in his lover's lap, careful about not tangling the tube, and looks at Andy. "Are they going well?"

"Very well."

"D'you wanna feel my abs? They're coming back, finally."

Andy smiles. "Absolutely."

The younger, before leaning back and lifting his shirt, says, "don't laugh."

"Baby, why would I laugh?"

Remington shrugs, smiles, and lifts his shirt, which is a new one Andy bought for him a few days ago, with little cartoon kittens printed onto it.

Putting a hand to the boy's skin, Andy traces over his gentle muscles, smiling. "You're so damn perfect."

"Shut up," Remington pouts, dropping his shirt down when the door opens and looking at Emerson, who comes in. "Hi," he says, glancing at Andy, who turns the boy back round in his lap.

Emerson smiles but seems deep in thought. "Hi, Rem," he returns, "there's something I need to, uh, say to you."

Remington's eyes retreat into his lap, automatically anxious at those words. Used to be; Holly needing to say something to him would end up with him either crying or with new bruises. Or both.

"Nothing bad," the drummer quickly adds, "its kind of an apology on my end."

"An apology?"

Emerson nods. He looks at the oldest in the room for reassurance. "I know I've not been a great brother lately. I've been distancing myself and I know it's wrong."

Andy sends him a smile, encouraging him to continue.

"Truth is, I don't know how to be around you anymore. Not because you're doing something wrong, just because I can't adjust to how you're changing. I'm still clinging on to you being the Remington I knew years ago. And of course, you're not him anymore."

Remington knows his brother isn't trying to upset him but he can't help feeling like he's the one to blame.

"I miss the relationship we had."

"Sorry for having issues, then," the singer mumbles spitefully, "most be so inconvenient for you."

Andy rubs his arms. "He's not blaming you," he whispers.

"I know it's my fault," Emerson goes on, "for running away rather than just getting over myself. I should've stuck with you when you needed it but I didn't, not like Sebastian and Andy did."

"I don't blame you," Remington says.

The younger shakes his head. "You've been trying so hard for years and all I've done is abandoned you and made things harder. So I'm sorry."

"How is he allowed to say sorry if I'm not?" Remington asks, now with a brighter voice. "Em, it's okay. I get it. It's been hard for us all."

"Please don't say its okay if, in your head, it's not.

"In my head? Gees, you don't wanna know what's in there. Among the mess of all the hatred I have for myself, Em, I just want my little brother to love me."

"I do love you," Emerson says quickly, "never stopped. I just... I forgot to show it, and I'm sorry."

Remington slides off his husband's lap. "Gimme a hug and all will be right," he says to his brother.

Andy watches them huh, warmed at the sight, and for a while, the three of them play truth or dare, until Remington's doctor comes in and reminds Emerson and Andy that they have to go in half an hour. He checks everything with Remington is okay before leaving.

"Don't want you to go," the boy complains, falling onto his back on the bed. "Don't like sleeping on my own."

"Me neither," Andy agrees, "it's pretty odd."

"Scary," Remington says, finding Harley and stroking her.

Once the two men have gone, Remington has a shower and turns on the telly, muting it when his doctor comes in again.

"Remington," the man begins, "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

"Am I dying?" Is the first thing that comes to his mind.

"No, no, you're doing fantastically."

"Then what it is?"

The man hesitates. "We're gonna have to send you home earlier than intended. Our inpatient ward is full and, as an adult male, unfortunately you aren't considered as important here as a teenage girl."

Remington looks at the doctor blankly. "You say all this shit about how important recovery is and then you're gonna make me leave just because I'm not a girl? How the hell is that fair? I can't go home and be expected to recover! I can't! I need help! I'm not ready to look after myself!"

"I understand this is upsetting, Remington, and believe me, its not my decision. I'd much rather you stayed for your full six months."

"So then tell them! You can't make me go! I'll just relapse or-or kill myself! You know I will! I'm only doing okay now because I'm here!"

"I will work with Abigail and have a talk with your family and we will find a way to keep you safe, but right now, I really have no choice."

Remington throws the television remote angrily. "Not even the fucking hospital can fix me!" He yells, "not even the people who are literally here to fix me can do that! I'm fucking un-fixable! You just want me gone 'cause I'm hard work!"

"Calm down, Remington, it's okay."

"Okay? Okay! No it's not! D'you know what it's like to literally scream at your husband because you can't physically do it anymore? D'you know how awful it feels to wake up every damn day wishing you hadn't? I can't do it! I can't go home and not just fall straight back into not eating! That's what I do! I don't want to but I do because something in my head tells me to! 'Stop eating, Remington, you'll get fat!' 'Don't eat that, Remington, you don't deserve it!' 'Stick your fingers down your throat, Remington, until you're puking up blood!'" He gasps for air and sobs.

"I understand, I do. Like I said, this is not my decision. I have no say in it. I'm just someone who does what they're told."

"So am I! But this? I won't do this! I won't go home because I know I'll stop eating and I'll start taking diet pills and I'll have another heart attack and I'll die and I don't wanna die! I wanna be a normal person! I wanna be normal and I'm not and I never will be if you send me home! You're literally just giving me a death sentence!" He wipes his eyes. "You might as well just call Andy now and tell him I died 'cause I won't last two weeks at home. Or just give me a bottle of pills and I'll save everyone the trouble."

With that, Remington looks the other way and plans out his death.