Trigger Warning: Emotional/physical abuse, PTSD, depression, anxiety

On the coffee table under the window opposite the sofa-bed, Remington sat, setting his glass and Andy's tea down beside him. Andy was still crying, but he took his hands from his face to look at Remington, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What happened?" Asked Remington. 

Andy shook his head and moved further onto the bed, wrestling his feet out of his black trainers so he could bring them up onto the mattress. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he rested his chin on his knees. "I did bad," he whispered, like someone would overhear if he were to speak any louder, like he had committed a sin worthy of death.

"In what way?" 

He shook his head again. 

"I made you some tea, would you like it?" 

After a moment, Andy nodded, reached for the mug, mumbling, "Thank you," as Remington passed it to him. He took a sip, then said into the drink, "I-I think you should-I think you should-should hurt me now. Please."

The weak but desperate 'please' made Remington feel sick. "Never," he replied. 

Andy's eyes grew wide, wet with fresh tears. "Please?" He asked. "Because I did-I did bad. Please." 

"What did you do?" 

"I didn't-I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." 

"Baby, it's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay. I won't hurt you. I'd sooner hurt myself. You're okay." 

Eyes still wide, Andy shook his head. "No. Don't-you can't hurt yourself," he said fearfully. "You can't do that."

"I'm not going to. I just mean, I'd rather hurt myself than hurt you. But I'm not going to. Neither of us are going to be hurt, okay? You're safe, I'm safe. I promise." 

Andy sniffled. "I'm scared," he whispered. "I made them-I made them angry." 

"I'm sure you didn't." 

"No. I did. I did. Because I-because I always-I always exaggerate all the time and-and Holden didn't-he didn't try to kill me, he-he didn't..." 

"Honey. Holden did try to kill you. I promise you, that isn't an exaggeration. They have no right to be angry with you over that. It's the truth." 

Andy stared at Remington. "But...but..." 

"What did they say to you?" 

"I don't know." 

"You said you did bad?" 

"I hit my head on the table and then I was-I was crying, so I went to the bathroom, and-and Lonny followed me and he hugged me but I didn't know he was going to and I didn't-I wasn't prepared, and I pushed him and-and what if he's mad? I didn't mean to. I really didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done it. It was so bad, I did so bad. I'm really sorry, Remington. I'm really sorry." 

That he felt the need to apologise to apologise to him gave Remington a feeling not dissimilar to that of physical injury. "Honey, that's not your fault," he said. "It's not your fault at all. It's okay to be frightened by a hug you weren't ready for, you don't need to apologise for that, to anyone." 

Andy dropped his gaze into the tea. "It's not okay," he whispered shamefully. 

"I promise you, it is. You've been traumatised by someone who was supposed to make you happy, and that's not your fault. It's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes." 

"But...but I-I pushed him." 

"Because you were scared. And that is okay." 

"I pushed him," Andy repeated, tears in his voice. Then, eyes again spilling over, hands still shaking, "I pushed him and I didn't mean to, but I pushed him and now I'm bad and-and-and I always do the wrong thing all the time. I always do the wrong thing. Why do I always do the wrong thing?" 

Leaning forward, Remington carefully took the tea from his hand to avoid it being dropped, put it on the coffee table beside his orange juice. "You've not done anything wrong, baby." 

"I have. I have. I did so much wrong. I do so much wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I always just waste all your time." 

"You're worth every minute that I spend with you. I'm guessing you didn't eat yet? Can I get you something?" 

Andy wiped a hand across his face. "I always do wrong," he mumbled almost incoherently, as though confirming the fact with himself. He dropped his head and cradled it in his hands, and Remington knew he was only seconds from beginning to sob. When he did, he seemed to sink into the bed, his entire being trembling as though something heavy was rattling inside him. Through the sobs, he stuttered, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." 

"It's okay, you're okay," Remington soothed. "You've done nothing wrong, you're okay." He sat quietly, sipping his orange juice, while Andy cried, didn't attempt to say anything else until the man had given himself time to calm down. He offered again to make him something to eat once the tears had mostly subsided, and Andy nodded hesitantly. 

"Thank you," he said as Remington stood to go into the kitchen, and again, "Thank you. Sorry." 

When Remington returned, Andy was holding his tea in both hands, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He looked up at Remington with glassy eyes, patting the mattress beside him when the younger went to sit in the coffee table.

Remington smiled, bowl of instant noodles in hand. "This will be the most gourmet shit you've ever had in your mouth," he joked.

Finishing the tea, Andy leaned over to out the mug in the floor. "Thank you," he repeated. "This is really so nice of you."

Cautious of spilling the broth, Remington passed the bowl to Andy before sitting on the bed, keeping a gap between them. "How're you feeling now?"

Andy swirled the fork in the noddles. "I don't know. Less hysterical."

Remington hummed. "You weren't hysterical, but I'm glad."

"Oh. Thank you."

"You can keep the key I gave you, by the way."

"Really?"

"Of course. I want you to feel you always have somewhere to go."

Andy teared up. "Wow. Thank you.  Thank you so much," he gushed. "You really are the best."