The bassist from now on is called Johnny. I've gone back and changed his name, but have probably missed some.
Trigger warning. (Suicidal stuff)

It takes Remington nearly an hour to eat lunch in the bus, sat with Andy at the small table. "I don't want it," he complains, pushing the pieces of chicken around with the fork.

"I know, sweetie. You can do it." Andy rubs his shoulder.

The boy stabs a piece of chicken and then pushes it off the fork again with his fingers. "I can't," he mumbles, "it's scary."

Andy takes the fork from Remington's hand and stabs a piece of chicken and some lettuce, his other hand touching Remington's cheek so the singer looks at him. "Can you eat this for me?" He asks carefully.

Remington nods, opening his mouth and accepting the food.

"There we go. Good boy."

After swallowing the mouthful, Remington wipes his mouth with a pout.

Andy ruffles his hair and stabs some more of the salad. "Can you manage some more, honey?"

"Do I have to?"

"Ideally, yes."

"Well that sucks." He accepts another fork full. They continue like this until he's nearly finished the chicken salad, and Andy reminds him to call Abigail.

He does, sitting in his bunk. "Hiya Remington," she greets, "how's tour going?"

Remington looks at the drawings fans gave him pinned on the wall. "It's complicated," he answers.

"Try and tell my as much as you can."

He traces pencil lines with his finger. "Me and Andy had a fight yesterday. Well actually I shouted at him and he tried to calm me down for ten minutes."

"Okay. What was this fight about?"

"I said the guy who attacked me the other day is Holly's brother and he said it might not be and I got angry." He lies on his back and looks up at the ceiling. "And also I was taking diet pills again and I didn't tell anyone and it was making me really anxious which is probably why I snapped."

"Have you told someone now?"

Remington smiles to himself for some reason. "Yeah. Kinda. I didn't tell him, but Andy found them and got rid of them." His hand automatically migrates to his ribs.

"And how did that make you feel when he got rid of them?"

The singer sighs, no longer smiling. "Kinda-kinda hopeless. I don't know. It's weird. When I'm taking them I feel awful because they make me feel all shaky and tired, but when I'm not taking, I feel awful because I know I'll have to gain weight. I want anorexia to fuck off. Sometimes I wanna stand on the top of a fucking building and scream at anorexia to leave me the fuck alone. And then when it doesn't leave me alone, I'll jump. Bam! Dead. Problem solved. No more Remington. No more anorexia."

"Let's talk about more healthy ways to cope with it, okay? We don't want you actaully doing that now, do we?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm quite happy to do that." He turns onto his front. "But yes please. Ways to cope."

Abigail shakes her head. "Okay. How have you been sticking to times for eating? How's that been on tour?"

"I haven't."

"Not at all?"

"Hardly. When it's time to eat, I can't because everyone else is and it makes me feel sick eating around people are eating, too. Andy always makes sure I eat at least two meals a day but sometimes I just-I can't. I want to but I can't." There's a crash from the other end of the bus and he flinches.

"Do you think you would find it a bit easier if you didn't have to eat on the bus?"

"Honestly, no. It's just hard all the time. It's easier to eat with diet pills. I guess that's kinda why I keep taking them, because I feel better about myself that I can actually eat willingly. I mean, Andy had to freaking feed me earlier, and that wasn't even the first time."

"Remington, it's okay if Andy feeds you when you can't manage to eat. As long as you're eating and you're not making sick or taking diet pills, that's all that matters."

"Can I ask you a really weird question?"

"You can ask me anything."

Remington hesitates. He wonders if the question will sound like he's about to kill himself. "Will you come to my funeral when I die?"

Abigail stiffens. "No, because you're gonna live longer than me. You're young, Remington. You're not even thirty. I'm nearly fifty. I'm gonna die before you."

"But if I die before you, would you?"

"Are you feeling suicidal, Remington? Do you need to talk about it?"

The boy didn't think he was feeling suicidal, but now he properly thinks about he, he thinks he might be. "I don't know. I guess I keep thinking about dying, about who will be at my funeral, whether anyone would even come. I don't know if it's 'cause I wanna die or just because I over think all the time."

"Have you thought about acting on those thoughts?"

"No?"

"Remington," Abigail warns, urging him to tell her the truth.

The singer rolls onto his back and sits up. "Fine. Yes. I have thought about acting on it."

"How often?"

There's a silence from Remington for a moment. "Every day."

"Can you tell me what you think about?"

"How I wanna buy a shit ton of diet pills, take them all, and then swallow everything in the bathroom cabinet."

"Okay. Are there pills in the bathroom that are easily accesible?"

Remington feels strangely comforted that she is focussing on it like this. "Yeah. I tipped a whole container of painkillers into my hand yesterday and just stared at them for, like, five minutes, until someone knocked on the door."

"Were you gonna swallow them?"

"I don't know. I kinda did want to. But also I kinda didn't. Abi, it's confusing."

"I know. Just try and tell me as much as you can. Talking about it will help. I promise."

Again, he finds his hand tracing over his ribs. "Sometimes I can't think about anything else except for dying. But then soemtimes I forget for a moment, when I'm really happy. And then it comes back later. And I think...I think if I was ever alone in the bus, I really would act on it. Like-I don't think I can control myself." He sucks his stomach in and pushes down on his ribs so he can feel every bump. "I don't know what's worse. Being suicidal or being anorexic. They make eachother worse."

Abigail checks the time. "I think you understimate yourself. Just because in the past you've not been able to control yoursef when you're alone, that doesn't mean it'll always be like that."

"I just feel kinda hopeless, I guess. I hate feeling like this." He jumps when the curtain is pulled back, and looks at Andy. "I need to go," he says to Abigail, and hangs up.

Andy smiles. "Soundcheck, honey. You doing okay?"

Remington slides out of the bunk. "No, not really," he answers, "I told Abi so I might as well tell you." He picks up a hoodie. "I keep thinking about dying."

The two leave the vehicle. "Thank you for telling me. I'm gonna keep you safe."

"I know. Don't let me out of your sight."

Andy chuckles.

"No, seriously. Don't let me out of your sight. I nearly swallowed a whole container of painkillers in the bathroom yesterday." He goes into the venue through the back entrance and finds his band mates waiting for him. "I just wanna announce something," he says upon arrival. "I'm feeling extremely suicidal and I need you all to stop me from actually killing myself."

They look at him, surprised at how he just said it. "Suicidal?" Sebastian asks.

Remington nods and steps up onto the stage. "Really fucking suicidal," he confirms, "just thought you should know. Don't Feel Quite Right?'

"Um yeah, Don't Feel Quite Ri-suicidal?"

The singer just makes a gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot himself.