Hi I'm really happy right now so writing this is kinda challenging, how are you doing? 

I also made a new art account on Instagram, trying to eventually get the creator fund to help with university costs so any support is much appreciated! The account is @tessart747x, you could also follow my personal @tessaknowles747 if you wanna see my face and other random things :) 

Anyway, on with the story. 

Trigger Warning: Physical/emotional abuse, anxiety, depression, PTSD, alcohol, vomit 

* * * 

Andy didn't recognise the voice that was drunkenly shouting through the apartment, though wasn't giving much thought to it other than that he'd done something wrong and was going to get hurt. He stayed still and quiet and felt like even the smallest movement would make him vomit. 

Moments later, there was a series of doors opening and then Remington's frustrated voice saying, "For fuck's sake, are you for real right now? Get the hell out, what the fuck are you doing?"  There was more laughter, and Remington went on. "I'm not kidding. You can't just bust into my flat yelling like maniacs. Some people are trying to sleep. Piss off for God's sake." 

"Rem's pissy!" A slurred voice drawled, and a second one joined in, repeating the phrase until Remington cut over them with a sternness he barely used. 

"Shut the hell up and go home," he snapped, but it was no use, as the two were pushing past him into the living room. Andy couldn't find it in himself to pull his knees into his body. "Get out," Remington tried again, grabbing them and attempting to pull them back, but there was two of them and one of him, and the alcohol that was still inside him was making his coordination wonky. 

"Who's your man?" Sebastian asked loudly, jabbing a finger in Andy's direction, causing the singer to flinch. Still, he stayed where he was, managed to keep his eyes dry. "Who's your maaaaaaan?" 

Remington put his hands on his brother's chest and tried to push him towards the door. "Get the fuck out," he demanded. "I'm serious." 

"Hear that, Emerson? He's serious. Seeeeerious!" 

"I'm seeerious," Emerson mocked in a high voice, approaching the sofa bad as though Andy was an installation in a gallery. "Your man's mute or what?" He asked, then burst into laugher. 

Remington already was beginning to tear up at the sight of Andy. He sent him an apologetic glance, but it was useless. A few moments of silent apology wouldn't fix any of it. "Get out," he repeated. "Guys, come on. Get out. You're embarrassing yourselves. Fucking leave." 

"Fucking leeeeeeeave. Fucking leeeeeeave, I'm seeeeeerious!" 

"What are you, five? Get the hell out? I'll call the police. I mean it. Get out." 

"Oh no, the police!" Sebastian shouted, still laughing, picking up objects from the mantle piece and putting them back clumsily. 

Remington roughly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the room, opened the front door, and shoved him out. He slammed the door, locked it, and headed for Emerson. The younger set off running like a child refusing bed time. By this time, Andy was having to swallow back vomit. All the noise and no physical violence was so confusing that he wished they'd just hit him. 

"I swear to fucking God," Remington was muttering unhappily as he forced Emerson out. "I hate you both so much right now, piss the hell of or I swear,  I will call the police. Good bye." Then he slammed the door a second time, turned the lock, and returned to the living room. He stood, unsure of what to do, before eventually saying in a much softer voice, "I am so sorry. They get carried away when they drink, this happens so much. I need to take back the keys I gave them. Did they wake you?" 

Andy remained unmoving. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.  

Remington didn't know whether he should continue with trying to calm him down or to leave him alone. He ended up lingering in the doorway for some time, being brought out of the trance of contemplation by the sound of Andy throwing up.

Eyes shooting up, he watched the immediate aftermath of it, was relieved that the sheets on the bed were old and not any he cared for. He was quiet, figuring out what exactly to say, not wanting Andy to apologise but knowing he would. "Oh. Wow. Okay. Uh, it' s okay. It's okay. Let me show you to the shower. It's okay. Shower's right this way. I'll get you some clean clothes." 

Hands trembling before him and face white as the sheets beneath him, Andy stared at the puke that was on his fingers, couldn't make his limbs or his voice work. He felt as though he'd just died, and yet there he still was, and look at the mess he'd made. 

"It's okay," Remington repeated. "No bother, really. Let me show you to the shower, okay? I'll change the sheets. It's really no trouble at all." 

"I...I'm-I'm sorry. I..." 

"It's okay, you're okay, you don't need to apologise. It's my brothers who need to apologise to you. Not you to me. You're fine." 

Andy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, looking at Remington with an unreadable but heart breaking expression. 

"Are you okay to stand? You're not too dizzy or anything? The bathroom's just through here." 

"I'm sorry," Andy said again. 

"You're okay, really." 

He furrowed his eyebrows in deep confusion, eyes shimmering and close to leaking. "You're not...you're not mad?" He asked in a whisper, as though trying to make sense of it. "You're not..." 

Remington blinked away tears of his own. "Of course not." 

"You're...you're not...how..." 

"Let me show you to she bathroom, okay? So you can get rid of the vomit smell. I don't want you having to sleep with it in the air." 

Andy stared at him, then averted his gaze, blinked, and sobbed. He muttered another apology. 

"Oh, baby, it's okay. It's okay. You can cry anytime, as much as you need. We all do it. God knows I do." Remington dared to take a few steps closer to the bed, approaching slowly, until he was within touching distance. "Come on, love," he said kindly. "I've got a passionfruit shower gel I reckon you'll like." 

"I don't-I-I don't understand how you're-how you're not-not mad. I'm-I'm sorry. I don't..." 

"Nothing to be mad for. I've been sick on these sheets plenty of times, not to mention all the cum stains. I shouldn't have said that, now you're going to be lying here haunted by the knowledge of cum stains. Jesus, I need to stop." 

Andy wiped at his wet eyes with his wrists, stood slowly, careful not to touch anything. He followed Remington across the hall and into the bathroom, mumbling a 'thank you' when the younger turned on the taps so he could wash his hands. Once they were clean and Remington was turning to leave the room, he said, "Wait," and Remington turned back.

Andy wrapped his arms tight around him and didn't let go until the shaking had stopped.