Trigger Warning: Physical/verbal abuse, injury, depression, suicide, self-harm, anxiety, PTSD

* * * 

Noah found it difficult to know how much time to spend in Andy's house because he didn't want to suffocate him by being there too long and knew it was likely a challenge for Andy to tell him to go, but at the same time, he didn't want Andy to think he didn't care or to have to face things alone. 

It was bad luck that he had a particularly busy week in his studio following his night in Andy's house, and while he told the man he could text him if he needed anything, it wasn't so easy to just up and leave in the middle of a studio session with someone who was paying him to be there. And he didn't want to damage his reputation by doing such a thing. 

He messaged Andy a few times throughout the week, before and after work, to let him know that he was busy during the day but available in the evenings if he needed something. Andy replied twice out of the eight times Noah messaged, both times with just the words, Okay, thanks. Noah could only imagine he was struggling, didn't want to overwhelm him with texts but worried after not hearing from him for a few days. 

Late on the Friday evening, with the weekend free (Noah always made sure not to book anyone over the weekends), he decided to check in, walking from his studio in town to Andy's house. The front door was locked, as he had expected, and the curtains drawn.

He sent another text: Hi Andy, I'm outside if you need anything. I can run to the shop before it closes at midnight if you're low on food? 

He leaned against the low wall of Andy's small front yard and watched the three dots appear. Andy was typing. He sent back, after a long couple of minutes, Okay. Thank you. 

Noah assumed that mean he needed food so turned and headed back down the street. It was half past eleven, so he walked quickly to the shop and dropped various items into the basket as he passed them, everything easy to make or ready to eat. On his way to the till, he picked up a box of painkillers from the small pharmacy isle, as well as packet of antiseptic wipes. 

The way back to Andy's was drizzly, and when Noah got to his door again, he didn't have the chance to take out his phone and text Andy that he was there before the door opened. Andy must have been watching through the gap in the curtains. 

Noah smiled instead of showing his deep concern of Andy's state. Though the bruises on his face were healing, he was anything but well. "Hi," Noah said. "I got you some things. Let me know if you don't want any of it." 

Andy glanced at the bag in his hand, then at his face, before stepping back so Noah could go inside. 

Noah turned to catch the door before it slammed, locking it again. "I'm sorry I haven't seen you in a little while, I've been busy with work. Are you doing okay?" 

Andy shook his head. 

"Can I help? How about something to eat? Have you had anything lately?" 

He shook his head again. 

"Okay. Can we go into the kitchen? Is that okay?" 

"Okay." 

Noah walked ahead of him, flicking on the light and putting the shopping bag on the counter. He began to empty it. "If you want to talk about anything, I'll listen, but no pressure." He said nothing of the untidiness of the kitchen, had expected it as soon as he saw Andy. 

Sitting down in a dining chair, Andy watched him. "I took the - the rest of the painkillers," he said quietly. "All at...all at once." 

Noah stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Andy. "When was that?" He asked, trying to figure out how many he would have taken. There had only been one packet in the house when he last saw Andy, and it wasn't full.

"Like...Wednesday. I think." 

"Okay. Do you know how many you took?" 

"I don't know. Not - not enough." 

Noah asked, "Were you trying to overdose?" 

Andy blinked. His eyes were wet. "It didn't work," he mumbled. 

Noah left the shopping on the side and sat on the chair beside Andy, turning it so that he was facing him. "Can you tell me what happened after you took them?" 

"It didn't work," Andy repeated, seemed both ashamed and upset at that fact. He dropped his head and covered his face. 

"Okay. It's okay. I'm so sorry you felt you had to do that and I know it must be so distressing that it didn't do what you hoped it would." He had worked out that Andy must have only taken five or six, since there were only ten in the packet to begin with and he'd taken at least four before Noah left the previous week. As far as he knew, that wasn't enough to cause any damage, and he imagined Andy knew that but had been so desperate he'd taken them anyway. He could only assume he'd cut himself, too.

Not lifting his head, Andy stuttered through tears, "Are you gonna - are you mad? Please...I don't wanna do it..." 

"No, no, no. I'm not mad at all, and you don't need to do it. I promise. I'm just worried and I want to help, okay?" 

"Promise?" Andy whispered, dropping his hands from his face. 

"I promise. How about we eat something, you must be hungry?" 

Indeed, Andy was hungry. "Okay." 

Noah pushed his chair backwards before standing so that he wouldn't be towering over Andy and returned to the shopping, taking out the rest from the bag. "I got some instant noodles, is that okay? I'll make you some toast to have with it." 

"Okay." 

Noah made the simple food quietly, washing what was in the sink already as he waited for the noodles to boil. He spread a generous amount of butter onto two slices of toast and distributed the noodles into two bowls. He hadn't yet eaten dinner so it seemed logical to eat with Andy. 

Andy pulled the food towards him with a thank you, swirling his fork in the noodles and saying nothing as he ate. He glanced frequently at Noah, who was doing something on his phone, and started to feel slightly less shaky once he had eaten everything. It was stupid to him that he knew not eating made him feel awful but couldn't just make himself food. It wasn't that he wanted to undereat but the physical and emotional effort of first deciding what to have and then actually making it was utterly overwhelming.

Putting his phone down, Noah said, "Would you like anything else? I got a chocolate cake if you want a slice?" 

"Oh," Andy said, didn't know hot to respond to his endless generosity. "Okay." 

Noah stood again, picking up his and Andy's empty bowls and leaving them in the sink. As he opened the cake container, he said, "It's okay to be having a difficult time and if you need help, there's no shame in that. I promise it's never a bother." He cut two pieces from the cake and gave one to Andy on a plate with a fork, sitting back down with his own. 

"I just don't - I can't - I - It's too much. Like...everything is - is so hard, and I don't wanna do it anymore." 

"I know, and I'm so sorry. You deserve to feel okay and even though right now you don't, that doesn't mean you never will." 

"Yeah, but - but I can't - I - I can't do it anymore. I don't wanna do it anymore." He had started to cry, dropping his fork to lift his hands to his face. They were shaking. 

Noah didn't know what to do. He had told Andy it was his choice and if he needed to kill himself then he wouldn't stop him, and while he didn't want to tell Andy what to do, he could hardly just let him die. Andy wasn't the one who should have been paying for Jude's actions. "Andy, I'm so sorry," he said again. "You don't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry." 

"Why did he do this to me?" Andy cried, his voice unsteady. "What did I - what did I do?" He sobbed loudly and sunk down in his chair, hands covering his face. 

Swiping away tears from under his eyes, Noah tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "You didn't do anything to deserve what he's done to you. He's a disgusting person and that's not your fault, and I'm so sorry you're the one suffering for his actions. None of this is your fault, I promise you. It's never been your fault." 

"I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't...please, I can't - I can't do it anymore." Andy dragged his hands down his face and let them fall into his lap. His face was pale, under-eyes swollen from frequent crying. He sucked in shaky breaths and looked across the table at Noah, not bothering to wipe his tears away, didn't see much point when they kept leaking from his eyes. "I just...need it to go away," he mumbled. 

"I know you do. I know." 

"It just feels worse. All the time, it feels worse. I don't know what to do any - anymore." He returned his hands to his face, muffling his words and sobs. "Why - why did he do this to - to me? Why did he - why would he - " Cutting himself off, Andy pushed his fingers into his hair and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, crying hard enough that he was having to take in sharp, deep breaths between sobs. 

Noah watched him without knowing what to do. He wasn't going to hug Andy without him asking for it and it didn't really matter what he said; Andy had been treated awfully for years, made to believe he was only alive to be hurt, and no amount of I'm so sorry was going to make that go away.