Hi sorry it's been a while, I was away with my mum and was struggling with how to write this chapter. Keep commenting and voting, I appreciate it so much!! 

Trigger Warning: Depression, anxiety, physical/emotional abuse, injury, suicide 

Remington was in the kitchen for twenty minutes making lunch for he and Andy, but when he crossed the hall and looked into the living room, Andy was gone. 

He didn't have to check the rest of the flat to know where he'd gone, and why; the man was frightened of accepting help, of defying Holden's wishes, of change. Remington should have taken more care not to leave him alone for long enough for him to decide that returning home was a good idea. 

In fact, Andy was at the very moment lingering outside the front door to his and Holden's place, bouncing his hands before him as he tried and failed to work up the courage to go inside. Holden was going to hurt him for running away, that was obvious. He was going to shout and spit and threaten. Andy didn't know if he could take anymore of it, but also couldn't not take anymore of it. 

It felt illegal, the past night, being somewhere without him, sleeping in a bed all on his own, waking with the same amount of pain as the evening before. The gentleness had disconcerted him to such an extent that it had been making him question his sanity, and his reality. Was it really such good thing, all this kindness, if it felt so wrong? 

He raised his hand to the door, withdrew it, repeated, heart heavy in his chest, both longing and dreading to see his boyfriend. He took a step back and shook his head, stepped forwards again, wrapped his fingers with false confidence around the handle. 

Then he pushed down and the door opened. 

At first, he wondered if Holden was out, if he'd gone into the office rather than working from home as he usually did. He closed the door behind himself and when he turned back around, the man was right there. 

"Andy," he said, a strange softness in the way he spoke. "Andy, Andy Andy. Where have you been?" 

"I'm sorry," Andy answered quickly. 

Holden frowned. "You don't need to apologise, I just want to know where you've been. I was worried." 

"Uh...I-I just-I...." 

"Are you okay?" 

Andy couldn't think, couldn't work out what was going on, but knew he had to give a response. "Yes, thank you," he said. 

"Are you really? Andy, you're very pale. Are you sick?" 

He wasn't sick, though he felt it, standing there having this surreal, normal conversation. "No. I'm fine." 

"Look." Holden's brows were furrowed, as though whatever he was about to say was troubling him. "I know you ran away." 

Andy opened his mouth to say sorry, to say it a thousand times, but was cut off before he had the chance. 

"It's okay. I get it. I get that I've been a little harsh at times, and I'm sorry. I realise you're better than I've been giving you credit for." 

Andy nearly vomited. 

"You know I love you, don't you? You know I only want the best for you? If I hurt you, Andy, it's for you. You know that, right? You know I do it all for you?" 

"I know," he said, dizzy. 

"But I'm sorry that you felt you had to run away, and I'm so happy you're back. Promise me you won't do that again. I've been worried half to death." 

"I promise. I'm sorry." 

"I know you are. You're a good boy really, I think sometimes you just forget that. You don't need to act out against me, or make lots of noise when you're upset, that's what kids do. You're not a kid, are you?" 

Andy shook his head. 

"Just be good, okay? I only have to hurt you because you're not good so often. I only do it when I have to. You know that, don't you?" 

"Yes. I'm sorry." 

"One day you'll understand, I know you will. You'll see why I have to, and you'll see that it's all been good for you. I just want you to be a better man, Andy, that's all. I just want the best for you." Holden lifted his hand, stroked Andy's cheek, smiled. "Now tell me where you were, and who these clothes belong to." 

* * * 

Early morning, Holden was asleep, and Andy was slouched against the bathroom wall with newly bruised skin and alcohol as blood. 

After their conversation, Holden had initiated the drinking, had gotten Andy blackout drunk in the space of two hours, and then proceeded to yell at him for consuming so much. 'What did I literally just say?' He had asked venomously, thrashing his fists onto Andy's thighs as though a brick wall. 

Andy was too drunk to feel much of it, to listen, to care. He let it wash over him, let it become white noise, let it be normal. 

Now, in the bathroom, the pain was so bad that he couldn't stand and return to bed. It was like his legs had been torn off and put back the wrong way round. It was like Holden wasn't sorry at all, or that he was, and this was the only apology he knew. It was like hell, but at least hell was warm. 

He was still very drunk, but not enough to ignore what had been done to him, and though he was tired, he did not sleep. He tried all night to get up off the tiled floor, tried so many times that he begun to lose balance, lose sense of which way was up, started falling into the sink and the bathtub and the toilet, started wishing he had killed himself while he had the chance. 

Started filling the sink with cold water.