Can't believe we're almost at 20 chapters already! Sorry for this update taking a while, I've been at a festival over the weekend (it was a little disappointing tbh) and have been moving into my new apartment for this year these past 2 days so not had much time. 

Trigger Warning: PTSD, anxiety, depression, physical/emotional abuse, alcohol

* * * 

It took Remington a while to set up the sofa bed in his drunken state. He was aware of Andy's awkward presence behind him, the man having kept his distance following the abrupt hug. Remington imagined he was expecting a beating for it. Even with the alcohol making everything a little fuzzy and causing him to laugh at nothing, he couldn't let go of the thought of anybody hurting someone for needing physical contact.

His mind flitted, but always landed back on that, and when he was finally satisfied that the bed was secure, pressing his hand to the centre, he said, concentrating hard on sounding sober, "Let me get you some clothes to sleep in, be right back." He stepped away from the bed, looked at Andy, frowned. "You okay?" He asked, then felt stupid. "I mean, are you, like, uh...is this okay? Are you comfortable sleeping here? I know it's pretty old, the mattress isn't the best. You can have my bed, if you want. No sweat." 

Andy was refusing to spare half a glance in Remington's direction, said quietly, "No, thank you. This is good. Thank you. I'm sorry." 

"Ain't got to be sorry, babe. Oh, right. Clothes." He took a step with the intention of heading for the door, but Andy was blocking the way, and he didn't know how much closer he could get. He stopped moving. 

Quickly, startled, Andy stepped out of the way. "Sorry," he said again. Then, alarming Remington, he sunk to the floor and started to cry while repeating that he was sorry, the word losing its meaning. 

Remington cursed himself for being drunk. He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled as though trying to breathe the alcohol out, and said, "You're okay. Crying's okay." 

Andy violently shook his head and stuttered, "It all feels wrong now." 

"You can get your life back." 

"How?" He cried. "How do I do that? How do I just-just move on from nine years of thinking he loved me? Of thinking he actually gave a shit? Everything has been for nothing. Everything is all for nothing and it's all wrong." He sucked in a sharp breath. "It's all wrong. All of it is all wrong." 

"And that's okay. Everything you're feeling is okay." 

"You're preaching all this shit when you don't know what the fuck you're going on about!" Remington knew he was trying to provoke him, to earn himself a hit. It was what he was used to, and without it, there was a space that needed filling with something he didn't have. "All this crap about 'it's all okay' as if you fucking have any idea! As if you fucking know what it's like!" He waved his arms about. "You don't have a motherfucking clue!" 

"You're right," Remington replied.

His calmness agitated Andy, who continued firing hollow insults around like rotten wooden bullets, not able to understand how Remington still hadn't touched him. Then, realising his wrongdoings, he promptly shut up and started again to cry. 

He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so out of control before, unable even to supress the tears that he usually could push back for hours. Exposed and confused, he pulled his legs into his chest and held them tight, tried to silence himself. 

Remington quietly left the room to find clothes and drink water, returned to the same scene, and, putting the pile of clothes on the bed, said, "I'm gonna go shower. Help yourself to anything you want." 

Alone in the room, Andy hauled himself off the ground and into Remington's clothes, lay on the bed with a strange sensation of being somewhere safe. He couldn't sleep, and when, twenty minutes later, Remington emerged from the bathroom, he found the courage to say, "Thank you. I'm sorry." 

"That's okay. Happy to have you around. Everything fit okay?" 

Andy nodded, thanked him, yawned, apologised, and then was still again. 

"I hope you sleep okay," Remington said, turning to leave the room, stopping when Andy spoke his name. "Yeah?" He asked softly. 

"Thank you." 

"You don't need to thank me." 

"I do. Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Andy was satisfied with the response and settled down to sleep as Remington closed the door and crossed the hall.

Barely an hour later, he was woken by a loud crash and a flurry of drunken laughter. He bolted upright and waited for the beatings.