Remington is not exactly happy about ending up back in the stupid fucking mental hospital. He should have known it would happen when he tried to overdose, but he wasn't intending on making it out alive. God, he can't even kill himself properly.

He misses Andy and his brothers and he can't believe tour will have to be cancelled again because of something fucking stupid that he's done. God, he's such a let down.

On the first day back in the hospital, after spending two days recovering from the failed overdose, he sits in Dr Johnson's office impatiently, not wanting to talk about it with anyone. What even needs to be talked about? He wanted to die. He tried to die. He couldn't fucking die. That sucks. That really sucks. "How do you feel?" The doctor asks, and Remington just sighs. He doesn't want to talk about it. "Do you know why you're here?" He sounds just like he always did. Sympathetic, careful, experienced.

"Because I want to die," he mumbles, "and I couldn't even fucking do that."

Dr Johnson frowns and picks up something off his desk. A notebook. "Have you been writing your thoughts down recently?" He asks. He remembers how much Remington needed his notebook, how upset he was when Johnathon read it.

The boy shrugs. "No," he answers, "why would I?" I want to go home.

"You need an outlet, Remington. I want you to use this, okay, do whatever you want in it, but use it." He hands over the empty notebook with a pen, and Remington takes it hesitantly. "I'm not going to make you sit in here and listen to me talk, because I can see you're not going to talk about this, so you can go, but make sure you don't keep everything inside. I'm here to help you."

Remington holds the book and pen to his chest, avoiding eye contact with the man, and stands up. "Thank you," he mutters, and opens the door.

He's shown where his room is, and is even more unhappy with the fact that he has a fucking roommate. Did they not learn from last time that he hates having roommates? He sits on 'his' bed and stares at the wall, aware of the unfamiliar man watching him. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He snaps, and immediately regrets it. God, he's so horrible. The man doesn't say anything in response. Remington turns to look at him. He has to make friends with his roommate now, or things are never going to get better. "I'm sorry," he begins, "I'm sorry I shouted."

"It's okay," the stranger says.

Remington raises his eyebrow. "I'm Remington," he greets, holding out his hand. Hopefully he won't be freaked out by this guy shaking his hand. Oh well. Too late now.

The man accepts the handshake. "Alex," he says, "so what are you here for?"

The singer sighs, but decides to answer. "I tried to kill myself. What about you?"

"Same here," Alex answers, "guess we have something in common."

Remington smiles. He likes Alex. He sees nice. And quiet. "I've been here before, you know, a few months back. Same thing. I told my therapist I was going to crash my car and she sent me here. I hated it back then I hate it now." He looks at a poster on the wall. You are not alone. Ha!

"What did you do this time?"

The boy sighs. "Overdosed," he answers, "apparently I didn't swallow enough fucking painkillers, so here I fucking am."

There is a knock on their door and a doctor opens it. "Dinner, boys," she informs them, as if she's talking to some children.

Remington stands up, as does Alex, and they follow her down the corridor and into the canteen. He still hates it here with all the noisy chatter and strangers and stupid fucking rules about shit he doesn't care about. "So how long have you been here?" He asks once they're sat down with some bland food.

Alex stabs at his dinner. "Two weeks. You're the first person I've spoken to apart from Dr Johnson. People scare me." This young man sounds so similar to Remington and it makes him smile.

"People scare me too," the brown eyed boy says, "all the time." He puts a bit of pasta in his mouth.

With a gentle smile, Alex sips his water. "How comes you tried to kill yourself?" The question is so forward, so bold.

Remington hesitates. Does he want Alex to know? What the hell! The whole world knows at this point. "My ex abused me, raped me, stabbed me, and then left me to die in a hotel bathtub." He says it so bluntly that it surprises him. When did he become so confident?

His explanation definitely shocks Alex, who's eyes widen. "Holy fuck, that's awful. Shit, man, good on you for being able to talk about it." He sounds genuinely impressed and sympathetic and it's nice for Remington to be spoken to like this.

"She's in jail now. I wish she was fucking burning in fucking hell." There's a bang from behind him and he jumps and turns to see what it was. Someone throwing a chair on the floor.

"You swear a lot, don't you?" Alex observes, nothing how he jumps, but decides not to even mention it.

Remington nods. "Yeah, I know. Sorry." He never really thinks about it, but it's true, he does swear a lot. He's just so angry at the world.

Alex shakes his head. "No, it's fine. You just look really innocent and hearing you swear so much is kinda unexpected, I guess." Is that a compliment?

The boy isn't too sure how to respond to that. "Oh," is what he says, "innocent?"

"Yeah, innocent."

"In what way?" He's curious, of course he is. He would never consider himself innocent.

The young man shrugs. "You just radiate innocence. I don't know how to explain it. Like-you look gentle and soft and-I don't know-kinda cute." Okay, he's definitely flirting.

Remington can't help but to laugh. "Are you flirting with me?" He asks, amused, and picks up his glass.

"And what if I am?" Again, Remington laughs, and Alex raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

With a shake of the head, he replies. "I've got a boyfriend," he says simply, thinking about Andy at home. He wonders what Andy is doing, how he is. It must have been upsetting for him to find Remington having a mental breakdown in the bathroom as well as discovering he tried to overdose at the same time. Wow, Andy is one strong, beautiful, man.