Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression, abuse, PTSD, suicide, self-harm, anxiety, alcohol, eating disorder/weight

By the time a doctor had cleaned and wrapped Andy's hand, he was sober. He sat in the waiting room for a long time before they told him he was allowed to see Remington, and when he stepped into the room, the younger was propped up by a mound of pillows, weary-eyed, his arm bandaged from elbow to hand. A sadly familiar sight.

Andy sat down. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I fucked up." 

Looking at him, Remington blinked. He had stopped crying while they were waiting for the ambulance, but only because his body was too close to giving up to cry anymore. It was the first time he was relieved to have woken up. 

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't forgive myself. I just need you to know how much I'm sorry, and how much I regret it. I know I scared you." 

The highlights on Andy's face were tinted blue under the lights, Remington noticed. "It's okay," he mumbled. "I do forgive you." 

"You don't have to say that if it isn't true." 

"I need to forgive you." He took in a breath, like breathing was a chore. "I don't have anyone else." 

Andy felt his heart break. He didn't want to only be forgiven for that reason. He wanted to be forgiven because he was trusted. "That's not true," he said. "You have so many people." 

"No." Remington leant his head back against the pillow. "No. I don't." Then his expression changed and he looked away. "You just want rid of me." 

"No, honey. Never." 

"No. You do. You do. That's-that's why you got drunk. So-so then I'd hate you, and-and you'd get rid of me. But I don't hate you, and I don't...I don't have anyone else. If you get rid of me, I don't have anyone. I'll be-" He cut himself off with a shake of the head. "I'll be all on my own without you." 

"I got drunk because I'm really worried and stressed and it's what I do when I reach the limit. It's not your fault, and I don't want rid of you at all. I want you to be safe, and I want you to feel loved." 

He frowned. "Loved?" 

"I know I hurt you before, when you said you loved me again and I didn't say it back. I should have said it back, because it was true then. So I'll say it now. I love you. So much. I love you so much. I always have." 

There were tears in his eyes. "You do? Really?" 

"Always have, honey. Always have. You're my person."

"I'm your person?" 

"You're my person. You're my everything." 

Remington wiped his eyes. "Really?" 

"Always." 

"You're my person, too." They were both quiet. Then Remington spoke again, through tears. "I really do forgive you." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I don't blame you in the first place. And I...I know you have a problem with alcohol. I'm sorry for making you drink again." 

"Not your fault." 

"But-" 

"Say it with me. It's all her fault." 

Remington looked at him and pouted. "But that's not true." 

"Yes it is. say it with me. All her fault." 

In a barely-there voice, "All her fault." 

"And again. Come on. This is gonna be your new catchphrase. Every time you enter a room, you're gonna say, 'all her fault.'" 

"I'm not doing that." He smiled for a second. "All her fault."

"Once more for good luck. All her fault." 

Remington huffed. "All her fault," he repeated. "All her fault. All her fault. All her fault." 

"Perfect. You got it." 

"Thanks, Andy." 

"Nothing to thank me for." 

"Can you maybe sit with me?" 

Andy stood and approached the bed, where he sat beside Remington, said, "You tell me if it's too close, okay?" 

Already, the younger was leaning against his shoulder. "Okay," he whispered. "I'm so tired." 

"Go to sleep, honey. I'll stay here. Thank you for trusting me." 

"Thank you for staying." 

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." 

Remington slept with his unharmed arm around Andy's, hugging it to his chest like a soft toy. He was still asleep when a nurse came in to check how he was, and she told Andy to stay the night since it was already the early morning. Andy was asleep by four. 

One piece of good news to come out of the trip to the hospital was that they found out that Remington had gained weight and didn't need to be put back on the tube. The thought had crossed Andy's mind while he waited after having his hand tended to. Everyday, Remington still struggled to eat, because he 'wasn't allowed', or she 'told me not to. It was a relief to know progress was being made, no matter how small. 

By the following evening, they had safely returned home, bandaged and with the instructions to take prescribed painkillers for the first few days. Andy made the decision to keep the containers in one of his drawers to avoid a possible future 'she made me' overdose. If it could be avoided, he'd make sure it was avoided. 

Later, Remington sat on the bed in Andy's room with the book about modern art, because even though he'd read it all already and was familiar with each piece of art, it made him feel safe. It was a physical reminder of what she had stolen from his life, and what Andy had given back.

It was full of colour. 

* * * 

The End. 

Hopefully you're not as mad about this ending as you are about Make Me. I want to end it here because otherwise it's gonna turn into the Save Me series, which I love, but I don't need to write it twice. I thought this was a good way to finish. 

Thanks for reading! 

Go read Almost Normal and The Move if you haven't yet, they're good, I promise :)