- I honestly don't know how long this is gonna go on for lmao I could keep going forever so if you're bored please lemme know :) I'm too invested in this story.

Trigger warning, I'm sorry. I'd honestly be surprised if you haven't wanted to murder me at least once.

Andy wishes he could say that he feels fine, that he isn't internally hating himself for being the reason they didn't adopt Kacey. But he can't say that, because he'd be lying.

When he finds himself, at nearly four am, creeping out of the bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom, he realises, for perhaps the first time, that he's doing worse than he thought. Well, worse than he liked to admit, anyway.

He never thought he'd be the one searching through the cupboards for something sharp, and with a pair of small scissors in his hand, he sits on the floor against the bath tub. Andy looks down at the partially healed cuts on his hip and knows it'd be easy to open them and to cut deep into himself again, perhaps even deeper than before. Or he could bring the weapon down onto his wrist, or his leg, or literally anywhere at all.

Andy shakes his head. What the fuck is he doing? He touches the sharp blade of the scissors with his finger, sighs, and wonders how Remington possibly manages to live with this constant nagging urge. Specially in the middle of the night when he's alone in a room with a blade and nothing stopping him. It seems impossible.

The man hardly processes what he's doing until he feels the harsh sting in his hip and the tickle of blood leaking from the new wound, carved into the recent cuts like a sculptor perfecting a statue. He keeps pushing until his eyes are teary and he can't breathe properly because it hurts so much, and lets the scissors fall onto the bath mat beneath him.

For ten minutes Andy sits there, tissue held over the wound until it stops bleeding, and then he stands up, sticks a large plaster over his self-inflicted mess, and returns to bed as if he never did that at all. If only it was as easy to forget about it as it is to pretend it never happened.

Remington thinks something seems off the next morning but comes to the conclusion that it's just a side affect of the strong medication he's on since his depression pounced on him again. He has a shower after breakfast and sticks his fingers down his throat because he thinks for a second too long about how he had that second piece of toast, and, with the water hammering down, watches his breakfast disappear down the drain, teary and angry at himself for not shouting for Andy.

Andy notices how his knuckles and his eyes are reddened and he opens his arms for the boy, ignoring how his hip burns with every movement. "Oh no, baby," he whispers, rubbing Remington's back and wondering if the singer can tell that something's wrong.

"'m sorry," Remington mumbles back, "didn't mean to. Sorry."

He sounds like a child apologising for drawing on the walls, Andy thinks. So innocent and scared of the outcome of what he just did. "It's okay," Andy assures him, "it's okay. I got you."

Remington lifts his head, sees Andy's expression, and knows something's wrong. He can't make his voice work in order to say something. His throat hurts and he thinks that life is cruel and unforgiving.

"Number?"

The boy shrugs.

"Higher than twenty?"

Surprisngly, Remington shakes his head. "'m not suicidal," he explains, "just was overthinking."

Wow, Andy thinks, he's not over twenty and I am. If only he could say that.

"Are you okay?"

Andy frowns. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Remington repeats, "'cause I don't think you are."

It seems wrong to admit how he's really feeling with Remington having a weak moment, and so Andy lies. "I'm great, sweetheart," he says, but Remington doesn't buy the overly cheerful words.

"You're lying," the younger decides, stepping back from the hug and looking at Andy, who tries to mask his sadness with a smile. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not lying," Andy insists, partly relieved that Remington knows something is up, but mostly terrified of his husband discovering what happened. "I'm fine."

Remington shakes his head. "Yeah, sure you are."

"Really, Remington, I'm fine." He smiles unconvincigly, almost wincing when he accidentally touches the sore cuts with his hand.

The boy frowns, takes Andy's hand. "Please don't lie."

"I'm not lying. Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Andy looks away, tries to convince himself that it's not important. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sounds defensive, hurt, and it makes Remington feel like he's said something wrong. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. Just tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Drop it."

"No, I'm not gonna drop it, Andy, because something is wrong. I know it. We've been together for years, don't you think I know you well enough to tell when something's wrong?"

"I don't know, Remington, do you?"

"Yes, obviously. Quiet acting like some tough guy and tell me what's wrong."

Andy rolls his eyes because it's easier than the alternative. "Like I said, nothing's wrong. Shut up, will you?"

Remington's hurt by the words. He realises it's just Andy's own pain making him lash out but it still hurts. "I'm not gonna let you act like you're fine when you're not! You literally had a mental breakdown the other day, Andy, so obviously you're really not fine."

"What the fuck do you know?"

"Sorry?"

The man shakes his head like he's bored, though really he's scared because they're arguing and it's his own fault. "Just because you are always fucking depressed doesn't mean I am, Remington!"

"Oh, well isn't that nice?"

"Oh, here we go! This is where you start crying, I assume."

Remington doesn't know what to think. This has never happened before, not with Andy. "No, I-"

"You what? You're sorry? What're you sorry for this time, Remington? There's always something, isn't there? Self harming? Making yourself sick? Starving yourself again? What is it this time? Hmm?"

"Andy, please, tell me what's wrong. I know something is."

"Then you don't know anything!"

Remington flinches at his harsh tone. "Where are they?" He asks, "the cuts, where are they?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" Andy fires back, not knowing how to calm down.

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you haven't cut yourself. I know you have. You're shouting because you're scared of me finding out and you're hurting. Where are they?" He won't give up. He doesn't care how much Andy shouts, he won't give up.

"Do you know how stupid you sound right now?"

Remington sighs. "I'm not the one lying about being fine, darling, so..."

Andy laughs bitterly. "I'm not lying. I told you."

"Oh? You want me to believe that you just woke up like this without there being a reason?"

"Yes!"

Remington throws his arms in the air. "Andy, you have never fucking shouted at me! And now you're shouting at me, so something's wrong. Just fucking tell me."

"Maybe I just realised how annoying you are." He sees how the words affect Remington and wishes he never got out of bed last night. "I'm sorry, Remington, I-"

The boy shakes his head with a sarcastic smile. "No, I get it. 'Take him in small doses' Holly used to say, 'or you'll overdose on how annoying he is and end up going crazy.' Turns out the only crazy one is me. Got it." He turns around.

"Wait," Andy tries, but Remington is already opening the front door, laces undone, and leaving.