Trigger Warning: Physical/verbal/sexual assault, depression, self-harm, suicide, anxiety, panic attack

* * * 

As if Andy's emotional state couldn't get any worse, the banging started on the door in the midst of his breakdown. As soon as the noise began, his hyperventilating got considerably worse, and he slid off the kitchen chair and onto the floor. 

Noah, getting up and walking around the table, said nothing, just left the kitchen and closed the door so that there was something between the entrance to the house and Andy. He wasn't sure unlocking the front door would do any good - Jude probably would barge in and yell - but what choice did he have? He couldn't let him continue to shout and bang and knew the longer it went on, the more likely Andy would be to try and kill himself again. 

Quickly, and with force, Noah opened the door, shoved Jude back so that he stumbled down the steps, and closed the door, trying his best not to slam it. He didn't have a key so couldn't lock it. 

Noah had the advantage of being taller than Jude, and physically stronger thanks to the frequent working out he did. He was able to push him away from the house, kicking his shins to keep him stumbling. When he was sure they were far enough away that Andy would hear through the walls, he yelled, "Get the fuck away!" 

"It's my fucking house!" 

"No! No, it's his house. You took everything from him, you disgusting excuse of a human; you do not get to take his house, too." 

"It's my house, Noah!" 

"Do you know what you've done to him? Do you have any idea how much you've destroyed his life? For what? For fucking what? So you could watch him cry while you forced your dick down his throat? Are you fucking brain dead? You don't do that to people! You don't fucking do that!" 

"Noah, listen-" 

"No. No, Jude. I don't wanna hear your excuses. Whatever the fuck you have to say, you can say it to the fucking mirror, because no one else is gonna believe you." 

"He's making it up!" 

Noah laughed because the audacity of Jude to say that was beyond comprehensible. "Are you serious right now? You're gonna play the victim while there's a man in that house who can't even make himself food because of how you made him feel? You have driven him to cutting himself and attempting suicide! Are you aware of how far you have to push someone for that to happen, Jude? Do you have any idea?" 

"He does that shit so everyone feels bad for him!" 

"No! Shut the fuck up! He does it because you violated every part of his life and body, and he needs a way out of the fucking trauma!" 

"I told you, he's making it up!" 

Noah shook his head, laughed drily, and said, "Are you even listening to me?" 

"Are you even listening to me? He's making it up! He does it all the fucking time! If you actually knew anything you'd realise that he cuts himself because he likes the sympathy, so I stopped giving him sympathy so that he would stop cutting himself." 

"No one does that!" Noah hissed. "No one hurts themselves like that for sympathy, Jude, and even if he was, don't you think that's something to worry about, not make worse? That man is fucking neck deep in crippling depression, and you're telling me it's for sympathy? You're telling me he's been not eating, not cleaning, cutting himself, and attempting suicide, for sympathy?" 

"Yes!" 

"Then I truly hope that you suffer alone for the rest of your fucking life." 

"Just let me go inside!" 

"You stay the fuck away from him!" 

"You don't own him!" 

"But you do?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"Just leave him alone, that's the least you can do right now. He's having a massive nervous breakdown and if you don't fucking let him be, you're going to be responsible for his death, and if that doesn't bother you, then I don't fucking know how you can stand yourself."

"All my shit is in the house!" 

"I will get your shit for you tomorrow if you stay the fuck away." 

"Fine!" 

"If you come back again, I'm calling the police and then your parents, and you can explain to them how you've driven a man to attempting suicide. Keep walking." Noah pushed him aggressively down the street and watched him continue to walk away without looking back, praying to god he wouldn't return. He didn't know how much more Andy could cope with; he was already at his limit. 

He returned to the house. The door was still unlocked, so Noah stepped in quietly. "Andy, he's gone, it's just me, okay?" He said as he locked the door. In the kitchen, he found Andy under the table, sobbing and gasping all at once. Crouching a few feet from him, he said softly, "I'm so sorry that just happened." 

"Don't make me do it," Andy cried. 

"No, no, no, you don't need to do it. Do you need me to go?" 

Andy shook his head quickly. "No. Please. Don't go. Please." 

"Okay. I'm right here. Can I help you calm down?" 

"How?" 

"Why don't we start with some deep breaths? Do you think you can try that?" 

"Okay," Andy stuttered, lifting his head to look at Noah. 

"Let's take a breath together, okay?" Noah sucked in a slow, deep breath, exaggerating it for Andy to follow. He released it and watched Andy do the same, repeating the slow inhale-exhale until Andy was beginning to breathe more easily. "You're doing so good," He said. "Do you think you can stand up? It doesn't look very comfortable on the floor." 

Andy dragged his shaking hand across his face. "Can you help?" He asked weakly. 

"Of course. Is it okay if I touch your hands?" 

Extending them to Noah, Andy nodded, letting Noah pull him out from under the table and onto his feet. 

Once he was steady, Noah let go of his hands; Andy was shaking rather aggressively, clearly terrified of Jude turning up again.

He was staring at Noah, tears heavy in his eyes. He mumbled, "Can you - can you maybe stay? For the night? In case he - he comes back?" 

"Of course I can. Here, do you wanna sit back down? I'll make some tea." 

Andy sat in his dining chair and wiped at his eyes repeatedly while Noah boiled the kettle and made tea for them both, figuring a hot drink might sooth him, specially with how unhappy his throat sounded when he used his voice. It was clear that Andy had spent the majority of the week crying. 

Putting the mugs on the table, he turned to sit back down when Andy said shakily, "Noah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Can you...my - my arm, I cut it and - and I can't - I don't..." His voice faded and he lifted his eyes to meet Noah's. "Just...help?" 

"Of course." Noah retrieved the antiseptic wipes from the counter and tore the packet open, sitting sideway in the chair beside Andy. "Can I touch you arm?" He asked. "Would that be okay?" 

Andy nodded, held his arm towards Noah, watched him gently take the back of his wrist. He pulled the sleeve of his hoodie up so Noah had access to the wounds, then took his fork and began eating the chocolate cake. 

"Some of these are pretty nasty," Noah said. "Do they hurt a lot?" 

"I don't know," Andy mumbled. Everything hurt at that point, his entire existence was painful, so it all just felt the same. 

"That's okay. I'm sorry if this stings at all. Remember, you can pull away if you need to, I won't stop you." 

"Okay." Andy put his fork down to sip the tea, watching Noah wipe at the dried blood on his arm. "Sorry," he said quietly, between sips. 

"No, that's okay. You don't need to apologise to me, ever, okay? Not for any of this." 

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." 

"How's the cake?" 

"Good."

"I'm glad. I'm not hurting you, I hope?" 

Andy shook his head. There was something incredibly soothing about Noah's presence.