Yall really missed something cute in the last chapter huh? damn thought I made it obvious

Trigger warning: Mentions of eating disorders, suicide, substance abuse

Andy knows Remington is hiding in the bathroom. He doesn't blame him. "Get rid of this," he demands, shoving the needle and heroin towards Martin. "Fucking get rid of it."

"Andy-"

"No. I won't take anymore. It's ruined everything. Get rid of it!"

"I can't do that."

Andy glares at him. "Yes you fucking can!"

"We have to get you to the end of this tour and you can't do that if you're going through withdrawal!"

The man laughs sarcastically. "I'm not taking it anymore!" He yells, kicking the wall. "I'm not, okay? I'm not! I've fucked up my life and I won't do it anymore!"

"Andy, listen-"

"No! You listen! You shouldn't have let me do it! You should have taken it when I told you where it was! You should've made me stop! Why would you let me carry on, Martin, why? Why would you do that?" He punches the wall and throws the drugs at the floor when Martin doesn't take them. "I'm a person, Martin! I'm a person with a life and fucking feelings! I have a husband! I have a husband and he thinks I'm a druggee, okay! He said that! My Remington-my sweet, perfect Remington-said that!" He runs his hands over his face. "And think what you like about me and this tour, but I am not just a fucking ploy to get you your fucking paycheque, got it? This is my life! This is all I have! You can't let me fuck it all up just for a couple months of shows, toilet sex, and fucking money! I don't care about your money!"

Remington is standing in the doorway of the bathroom watching, listening, with his phone gripped in his hand. "Can you hear him?" He whispers into the device.

"I can," Abigail says.

"Andy, you need to calm down," Martin is saying.

The man laughs loudly, as though his emotions are mixing in his head. "Oh, I do, do I? I need to calm down? I-who's high on fucking heroin and just scared my fucking husband, needs

to calm down! How did you work that one out? Because-wow-what a touch of fucking genius! You're so clever, it's incomprehensible!"

"Andy, seriously-"

"What? What could you possibly have to say now? 'Andy, stop shouting'. 'Andy, stop crying'. 'Andy, get a fucking grip'. I don't care! I don't care! Stop trying to use me! You should've helped me! Why didn't you help me? Why!"

Remington drops his phone. Andy and Martin look down the narrow corridor at him, not realising he had opened the door. The boy looks at his husband, not sure whether to close the door again or to say something.

Andy's eyes are blown out and his hands are clenched into fists. It seems he might turn and knock Martin to the ground.

Remington doesn't want to move to pick up his phone. He doesn't want to, but he can't help thinking that Andy could take a dark turn and suddenly come at him with the needle again.

"We can sort all of this out after tour," Martin says eventually.

Without taking his gaze from Remington, Andy responds. "We? Yeah right, like you have any fucking business sorting this out." He keeps his eyes on his husband, wants to say something to him but not knowing what. I'm sorry, maybe. Please help me. "Stop standing so close!" He yells at his manager suddenly, making Remington, much to his dismay, flinch.

Martin shakes his head, steps away.

"Andy?"

The man looks back at Remington when his name is spoken. "I'm sorry," he says.

Remington bites on his knuckles.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

The boy bends down cautiously, picks up his phone.

Andy turns around, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, takes in a breath. "Fuck me," he whispers, pushing a hand through his hair. "Fucking fuck me, I'm done."

Remington watches him pick up the needle, chewing his lip anxiously. "Please don't."

Shaking his head, Andy looks at the needle, decides he'll give himself a dose that's way too high. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"Andy..."

"One day you'll laugh about it," the man mumbles, straightens his arm out.

"No!" Remington shouts, bolting out of the bathroom and grabbing the needle from Andy. "No," he repeats, snapping the needle and dropping it.

Andy looks at him, on the edge of a full blown crash. He feels how his heart breaks when Remington quickly steps away, clearly still scared. "Please..." he whispers.

"I can't," the younger says, "you hurt me."

Andy nods because he already knew that. He sits on the couch, drops his head down, and crumples into sobs.

Remington can't look away, no matter how much he wants to. He feels guilty and betrayed and hurt and he just wants to un-learn everything from the past twenty four hours. He wants to go back to pointless conversations and bickering at night because he can't keep still. This isn't what he wanted at all.

On the couch with his hands in his hair, Andy just cries. He should be happy, he thought; that's what the drugs are supposed to do. Make him happy. But all they've done is made it all worse and now he has no clue how to fix any of it. He knows Remington hasn't eaten today, knows Sebastian's panicking about Emerson, knows everyone is disappointed with him for some reason or other and that no matter how much he does, how much he tries to help everyone, it won't ever be enough. He won't ever be enough.