Trigger Warning: Physical/emotional abuse, depression, anxiety, injury

"Don't you dare mess this up, boy." Sitting in the driver's eat of the car, Holden was lecturing Andy on all he could and couldn't do during the time with his parents. It wasn't often that they saw eachother - Holden, and his mother and father - since they had stayed in America once he had moved to England. This month, he had arranged for them to stay in the house, and was currently in the airport carpark, about to collect them. 

"I won't," Andy said. He'd only met Holden's parents twice before, and both times, his boyfriend miraculously transformed into a nice person, at least while in their presence. Though he found it difficult to make conversation with people he didn't know well, he was somewhat excited for the coming month. 

Eyeing him suspiciously, Holden hummed and opened his door, demanded Andy follow him, and began to make his way through the large carpark and into the 'arrivals' hall. "Smile, for God's sake," he said now, putting on his own happy face. 

Andy did, and while they waited, his left ribs begun to hurt. He rested a loose hand on them and flinched when it was slapped, looking at his boyfriend with an expression of startle. 

"Suck it up," Holden aggressively muttered. "And for God's sake, boy, smile! They're coming. Mom, dad! Hey!" They hugged. The sight was warming, for a moment, before Holden sent a backward glance at Andy that translated into something horrible. 

In his presence, Andy felt like a child. An unloved, frightened child, desperate for gentle arms to take him away from the hell he was in, to wrap him up in silky love and keep him safe from the cold weather beyond. 

He greeted Holden's parents as he was expected - with a smile and an 'it's so nice to see you again' - and they left the airport together. It took the best part of an hour to get home, and Andy was grateful that he was required not to speak unless spoken to, because it meant he could sit in the back quietly and feel sorry for himself, while the others chatted and laughed as though the sky was lit up with a neon fucking rainbow. 

That evening, they went out for a meal, and Holden's mother, Darlene, asked Andy how his band was going. Instinctively, the singer looked to Holden for approval that he should answer, got a very slight nod, before saying softly, "It's really good, thank you, " and when he was about to add something more, he was kicked under the table, so promptly shut up. 

"He's been having some issues," Holden said. "The band's not turning out like he hoped it would. Isn't that right, Andy?" 

He nodded obediently, though it wasn't right. The only thing he wasn't having issues with was his band. 

"Oh, that's a shame," said Darlene. "Still, not many bands work out, do they? I mean, what about that kid in your year at school? He was in a band for a bit, wasn't he?" 

"Until they went broke." 

"You're not broke, I hope. This wasn't some dramatic way to ask for money, was it?" There was humour and light-heartedness in his father's voice that made Andy go a little insane. How was it that they really had no idea of the things their son was capable of? 

Holden laughed at that, "No! Anything but." Catching his gaze on Andy, he kicked him under the table again for not apparent reason. To keep him in his place, Andy supposed. He had the sudden urge to smash a glass over his boyfriend's head. 

All things considered, dinner went smoothly. Andy was the one to pay, but that was the norm, and on the short walk back to the house, Holden even took his hand. Only, he didn't feel the comfort it was supposed to give. Instead, he felt the skeleton beneath his boyfriend's skin, sharp and cold as a pane of glass in the snow, felt the heaviness of the metal rings and the shiver of dread that slithered through him at the thought of them later catching and slashing his skin.

And he felt the violence beneath the act of romance, the mistake he'd unknowingly made that would need putting right. He felt everything bad, and nothing good, and it had been that way for so long - almost nine years - that he was doubting his ability to endure it much more. 

All evening, Holden treated him kindly. Anything he was asked by either Darlene or Holden's father, Richie, was given a short answer, one that was added on to by Holden, who made up lie after lie about his band and his friends and anything else he could come up with, and only once his parents had retired to one of the two spare bedrooms, and them to their room, did the expected conversation begin. 

"I told you not to say half of that crap," Holden said in a quiet but harsh voice, pulling Andy by his wrist onto the bed, making him land on his new tattoo, still sore to the touch. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, whatever. Save your voice for your band. Take your clothes off." 

The demand was weakening to hear, and with tears behind his eyes, filling him with an unshakable helplessness, Andy did as told, unspeaking. All those fans who expressed how beautiful and soothing his voice was, and yet his own boyfriend of nine years didn't ever want to hear it. 

Naked and trembling, he took the beating as though it was not his body, not his tearing skin, not his problem. He lay still and silent as the dead, listening to each thump and slap and muttered insult, until it was over, and then he was dismissed to the bathroom to 'clean up your mess'. 

The short walk from the bedroom to the bathroom was painful, his stomach protesting with each movement, a block of hot ice melting his insides into burning tar. He turned the shower on and stood under it, stared at the tiled wall, his eyes pooling and dripping before he could stop them. 

He reached for the wall, placed a hand flat, leant into it, his head drooping from his shoulders like he was made of wet clay. Catching the wall with his other hand, he begun to sob, the sound concealed by the buzzing, splashing shower.

Any adrenalin he'd had from the battering had quickly abandoned him, and he lost the need or strength to stand, lowered himself without grace to the hard, wet floor, as though, he, like the water, was being sucked down the plughole and into the gutters. 

On the shower floor, he keeled over and curled in on himself despite the pain it brought him, loud wails muffled, jerking with each gasp. He didn't attempt to get up and calm down until the water was cold.