Trigger warning: Mentions of Eating disorders

The clouds are heavy as Andy drives. He's been to a photoshoot today out in the countryside. It's a long journey home, and the man is sure the heavens are about to open and never close.

In the six months he's been gone, he's not moved on as much as he'd have liked to. The first thing he did was buy a house. He's two hours from where he used to live. He thought that perhaps it'd be easier to forget about it all if he was far away.

It's hardly worked.

Sometimes, he thinks about Remington, wonders what he's up to. He daren't search his name into Instagram, daren't watch any new interviews. He's sure he'd die if he had to see or hear the boy after what happened. He's sure it was a mistake. He should've just told Remington he was wrong, that they belong together.

They do belong together.

It does start raining. Andy turns the radio up. Suddenly Remington's voice is coming through his speakers. He can't concentrate on the road so he changes channel. He hasn't even been able to go on one date yet. All he sees in every man is that they're not Remington and he wants Remington.

There's a sign on the motorway. It says the road ahead is closed, that there's been an accident. Andy turns off at the next exit, looks for an alternative route home.

He gets caught in a traffic jam, has to sit in the same place for forty five minutes because everyone turned off at the same place and now no one is going anywhere. Andy watches raindrops on the windows. They look like tears, he thinks.

The que starts moving eventually. Andy yawns, turns the radio off, follows the signs for his town, though discovers another que and so takes a wrong turn and decides he'd rather just stay in a hotel at this point. It's too late for another two hours in the car.

He ends up near his old town, following roads that are collecting water, slowing when he spots someone, alone, crawling along the grass at the side of the road. It's too dark to make out if they're hurt or drunk and he stops the car near by, opens the door. "Are you okay?" He shouts, shielding hid face from the rain.

The person stops dead still.

It was the early evening when Remington got home. He was already feeling the effects of the pills, and the regret of taking them. He took his jacket off, hung it up and went through into the kitchen, made a cup of tea, stood quietly while the kettle boiled.

He was uneasy, anxious, because he knew what he was doing was wrong but he didn't know how to stop, didn't know how to tell anyone. It's not like Kieran would ever understand, his brothers would be so disappointed, and he can't bear to let Abigail down.

With the tea, he sat in the living room, putting it down to answer Kieran on the phone.

"You doing anything?" Kieran asked.

"No, why?"

"Wanna come round?"

Remington hesitated. "And do what?"

"I dunno, Rem, whatever you like."

"Okay, I'm comin'," Remington said, and hung up.

That was forty five minutes ago.

Half an hour ago, he arrived at his boyfriend's, smiled at him. "So what's the plan?" He asked playfully, stepping in.

Kieran shrugged. "Well I just ordered pizza."

Remington hid his fear with another smile. "Great," he said, "I'm starving." He settled down on the couch, checked his phone, looked up when Kieran joined him.

When the pizza was delivered, Remington ate it because he had no choice. Afterwards, he played with his fingers before saying he was going to the bathroom. He locked the door and up it came.

"Are you okay?" Kieran asked when the boy returned. "Your eyes are kinda red."

Remington covered his knuckles. "I'm fine."

"You've not been crying or something?"

"No."

"Okay," he said, unconvinced, and ten minutes later, brought it up again.

Remington shrugged it off. "I just got something in them," he lied, "that's all."

"I don't believe you."

"Not my problem."

"You know I heard you."

"What?"

Kieran sighed. "In the bathroom. I heard you."

Remington raised an innocent eyebrow.

The younger gagged so Remington knew what he was on about.

"Okay, well you're hearing things."

Kieran shook his head. "How come you're shaking then?" He looked at Remington thoughtfully. "And it would explain why you never let me see you even half naked."

"You don't know shit," Remington said, defensive. He hates being confronted about it.

"Okay, so then show me your hands. If I'm talking shit then there'll be nothing to hide."

"Kieran..."

"I'm right, aren't I? You made yourself puke up all the food."

"No."

"Come on, stop hiding shit from me."

Remington stood up. He felt too exposed and had to get out of there. "Keep your damn nose out of it," he snapped, and left.

And now he's crawling down the grass at the side of the road because he's too dizzy to walk and the rain is so heavy it's hard to see. He can feel the wet grass and mud soaking through his jeans, hear the sound of cars passing every few minutes.

There goes another relationship. Ruined again because of his stupid stupid antics.

He doesn't remember crying by when he tries to breathe all he does is sob. How did he really think he'd manage to recover, to go half a year without doing something to fuck it all up? It's dark. Too dark to make out what's more than a few metres in front of him. And it's cold. Cold and wet and unnerving because he can't even breathe properly, no matter find his way home.

Another car passes. This one slows down. Remington watches the door open, hears the voice that asks if he's okay.

Suddenly he's unable to move.