Trigger Warning: Depression, anxiety, PTSD, physical/emotional abuse 

Andy was in the psychiatric ward of the hospital, in a small bedroom with a large window looking over the grassy courtyard where he was allowed to go and read, and had been given magazines and newspapers which he tore pictures from to stick on the walls with blu-tack. He was bored but he felt lighter mentally than he he'd felt for a long time, or at least, he could have the relief of not being the one responsible for keeping himself out of harm.

The catatonic state that he'd been in for two days had dissipated while the nurses took care of him, and he had been visited by everybody in his band, as well as his parents, who had brought him sweet food, books, and clothes. There was no word from Holden. 

He was sitting cross legged on the grass outside, the sun gentle, with a book in his lap, no longer reading. The doors opened and he turned to see who it was, smiled, without having to work his muscles into doing so, at Remington, who smiled back. Andy waited for him to cross the courtyard and sit down before he spoke. "You're here," he said. 

Remington leaned back on his elbows and squinted up at the sky. "I'm here." He took a deep breath, then asked, "How're you doing? You look good. I like your hair like that." 

"Oh. Uh, thank you. I'm fine. I mean, like, not fine, but, fine. I don't know. Sorry." 

"They told me you were in cata-uh-something depression? They wouldn't let me visit, said you were unresponsive." 

"Catatonic," Andy corrected. "Yeah. I don't know. That was weird." 

"But not anymore?" 

"No, just normal depression now." 

Remington hummed. He wanted to tell Andy about the previous night, about Natasha and what he nearly did with her, but seeing the man still so delicate, he didn't know if he could. "It's good to see you. I missed you." 

Shifting to avoid pins and needles in his feet, Andy looked at Remington, frowned. "Oh," he mumbled. "Why?" 

"Are you kidding? Honey, c'mon now. Anyone would be crazy not to miss you. I mean, okay, I hate to sound so shallow, but your beauty makes me happy." 

Quickly, Andy turned his head away from Remington, pulled at the blades of grass beside him. 

Remington started humming a song absently. 

"The Last One," Andy spoke. 

"Hm?" 

"The song you're singing. The Last One." 

"Oh. Yes. I love that song. I heard the singer of that band is pretty cool." 

Andy shook his head and giggled - something Remington hadn't ever heard him do - his face bright in a way that made it seem almost like they were at a park and not a hospital. 

"Am I too close?" 

Andy's eyes shot towards Remington, who gestured at his hands. 

"You're shaking." 

"Oh. Sorry." 

"No, that's okay. I'm not scaring you, am I?" 

Shaking his head, Andy clasped his hands together. "No, I...I don't wanna say the wrong thing." 

"The wrong thing?" 

"To make you leave." 

Remington straightened, pulled his knees up, rested his arms on them. He was frowning, looking at the flower beds a few metres away. 

Andy didn't like the lack of response. It made him dread what was coming next. Between his teeth, he took his bottom lip. The roof of his mouth, where Holden had cut, had healed nicely. He had to admit to dropping the court case, to freeing Holden, he knew he did, but there wasn't a single cell in him that was willing. 

"Oh, baby," said Remington finally. "You're good, I'm not leaving. You say whatever you wanna say." 

It was harder, Andy thought, when Remington was nothing but kind to him. If he were mean, if he were loud and angry and erratic, admitting to what he had done would have been easier, because he couldn't disappoint someone who already had low expectations for him. But admitting such a horrible act of stupidity to a person who was gentle and full of compliments was hellish.

How could he bear to disappoint the very person who had gotten him out of his relationship with Holden in the first place? How could he explain that he had ruined all of Remington's work by dropping the case and willingly returning to Holden like the spineless boy he was? 

Tears came to his eyes like a rainstorm that bad been on the forecast for weeks before hitting. He blinked hard, the very idea of crying making his throat tight. 

"Hey, it's okay," Remington said softly. "It's okay. Crying's okay. I did the same, last night." 

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't-I couldn't-I..."

"You couldn't go to court? I know. It's okay." 

Andy stared at Remington, droplets slipping down his cheeks. 

"It was him who nearly killed you, wasn't it? When I called you an ambulance, it was because of him?" 

Andy nodded shamefully, as though it was his fault that Holden had beaten him. "I'm sorry," he stuttered. 

"No, honey. You're okay. You were scared, I know you were. Of having to talk about it all in court, having to deal with it. I get it. It's not your fault. The police have him now, okay? They're calling it attempted murder, what he did to you." 

Wordless, Andy reached for Remington's hand, held it in both of his shaking ones.