Is anyone interested in co-writing a fanfic with me?? Send me a message if you are!!

Trigger warning. I know, I'm sorry.

User 1: Is it just me who is worried about Remington? He seemed really thin in the livestream he did with Andy.
User 2: @user1 I agree, he looked thin, but we don't know what's going on. Leave it be. He's just come back on social media. Don't be the reason he leaves again.

When Remington tells Andy he wants to adopt, the man is surprised, and slightly hesitant about the whole idea of it. He isn't sure if Remington being responsible for a child is the best thing for him. "Are you sure?" He asks, and Remington nods, already feeling stupid for bringing it up.

"Do you think I'm too 'unstable' to look after a child? That's what Emerson said." His voice is accusing, hurt.

Andy shakes his head. "No, I just don't think it's a good idea yet. Look, we can adopt in a few years, sweetheart, when you're not so-"

"Not so what? Not so fragile? Not so delicate? Not so unstable? And what if that day never comes? What if this is it?"

"Remington, listen, I would love to adopt a child with you, okay, I really would, but I'm worried that it would make recovery so much harder." Andy has a point, and Remington knows he does, but he doesn't care.

He feels attacked and cornered. "What you mean is that I'm unable to look after another human because I can't even look after myself!"

"No, I-"

Remington interrupts him again. "Is it because I'd be a shit parent? I probably would. You're right."

"Stop putting words in my mouth."

"Don't tell me what to do! Maybe the reason I can't look after myself is because you won't let me!"

Andy raises his eyebrow. "What?"

"Because you're always telling me what to do. Oh Remington, sit down. Oh Remington, have some food. Oh Remington, come with me. Oh Remington, stop taking diet pills. Oh Remington, don't scratch your wrists. Oh Remington, talk to me. Well what if I don't want to 'talk to you' anymore?"

"That's not true."

"No? Isn't it? And how do you know? Maybe, Andy, you don't even know me at all!"

The man sighs. "Remington, calm-"

"Don't tell me to calm down! Let's be honest for a moment, shall we? The reason why you don't wanna adopt with me is because you don't love me at all. Never have, never fucking will!"

"I did not say that," Andy defends, because what Remington is saying is ridiculous.

"You didn't need to," Remington mumbles, and gets up off the bed. "I'm having a shower."

Andy sighs as the boy leaves the room. He hears the shower running a few minutes later. It's late, past eleven pm, and Andy knows Remington only went to have a shower because he was about to cry and felt stupid about it. He'll be crying in the shower. Andy knows he will.

The shower goes off and the house falls silent, and Remington eventually comes back into the bedroom, towel around himself loosely, red eyed, but luckily not red-knuckled. At least he didn't relapse. He looks at Andy, but quickly averts his gaze, dropping the towel and pulling on some underwear. Andy picks up a book he's reading and tries to focus on that, rather than on the sad boy who's not talking to him. He knows he has to let Remington come to him, otherwise the boy feels pressured and suffocated, but he wants to get up and hug him.

Remington sits on the bed, damp, and looks at his hands, plays with his rings. His eyes are drawn to Andy, and he watches the man turn the page in the book. He turns away from his husband, lying on top of the duvet in just underwear, and closes his eyes.

Andy puts his book down. He looks at the young man beside him on the bed, facing away from him, skinny body curled up on top of the covers, cold but too ashamed to do anything about it. Quietly, Andy gets off the bed to turn the lights off, and, from the light switch by the door, can see Remington's face. His eyes are closed delicately, his hands under his head, his cheeks pale, but red enough that Andy knows he's been crying. He presses the light switch and the room goes dark, and he navigates his way back to the bed.

The men are quiet. Remington is shivering and he wishes he could be in Andy's arms, like every other night, but he feels so stupid for getting so overly defensive. He pulls the covers out from underneath his small body and tries to comfort himself, but nothing makes him feel safe like Andy does.

A siren rings somewhere in town. Andy knows it's an ambulance. He's heard enough ambulance sirens to know what they sound like. Remington moves next to him, rubs his eyes, which he can't stop from tearing up.

"Sweetheart," Andy whispers, "you don't have to say anything, but if you need a cuddle-" He doesn't have to finish the sentence, because Remington is already pressing his body to Andy's, still facing the other way, but now comforted with the warmth and familiarity of his husband. "I love you," Andy assures him, whispering into his hair.

Remington rubs his eyes again. He wants to rest his head on Andy's chest and have the man stroke his hair. "Are you-are you mad?" His voice is soft, sleepy, scared.

"Never." Andy's fingers make gentle contact with the younger's skin, running slowly over his ribs, feeling the way the way the bones dip, the way his stomach is sunken in, though not as much as it was a few weeks ago.

The boy grabs Andy's hand with his and holds it like his life is incomplete without it. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Remington turns over, and looks at Andy for a moment. "If that was what it's like to argue with your husband then I don't like it and I don't want it." He lets his head fall onto Andy's chest, and sighs.

Andy strokes his hair. "I don't like it, either, petal. Sweet dreams." He brings the boy's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, and the two lovers drift to sleep.

It's a shame that the night ahead wouldn't be so kind as to let them sleep peacefully.