Trigger Warning: Physical/verbal abuse, sexual assault, self-harm, depression, anxiety

* * * 

The following morning, Andy's black eye was verging on unbearable. The painkillers Noah had given him had worn off and he woke with a crushing headache, as he often did. But that didn't matter, because he woke alone.

Noah had kept his promise to keep Jude away. 

Unable to remain in bed with the pain, Andy got up, went straight down to the front door, hoping desperately that Noah had also kept his promise of delivering painkillers through the letter box.

On the floor, there was a small cardboard box from the pharmacy - ibuprofen - and a wrapped pastry from the coffee shop. Andy picked them up, wincing as he did so, and bit into the pastry as he went through to the kitchen. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel, couldn't make sense of what had happened, what was still happening. 

And the pain wasn't helping, wouldn't allow him to think clearly through the constant distraction of it. But he was used to that. As used to it as he could be. Not that he enjoyed it, as Jude insisted he should, but that it was there all the time, so he knew it well.

Andy sat in the kitchen, swallowing two of the painkillers and continuing to eat the pastry. 

Some guy he didn't know at all had not only not touched him, but had also gone to the trouble of buying him food and ibuprofen. Andy couldn't understand it, but Noah's kindness was making it increasingly difficult not to trust him. And god did he need someone to trust.

* * * 

Meanwhile, Noah was knocking on the door of Nick's house, having barely slept and anxious to hear from Andy, if only to know he was able to function with the pain he was in. He hated to think of the man struggling to look after himself because of something someone else had done to him. 

 As soon as Nick opened the door, he asked, "He's still here, right?"

Nick stepped aside to let him in. "Yeah. He's pretty hungover."

"Good."

"What's going on? You said you'd explain?"

"You know his 'fake' boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well, he's very much real. I met him."

"You did? Last night?"

"Yes, and guess what?" Noah said, already angry again. "He's covered, Nick, covered in bruises. Like, fuck, I've never seen anyone so fucking beaten up in my life. And - and he thought I was gonna hurt him, like, he kept asking if I'd 'make him do it', and I'm pretty sure that means shoving my dick down his fucking throat! Nick, he's being fucking abused and assaulted and no one fucking knows about it! And those who do are enabling or taking part, and our fucking - shit! Our fucking friend is doing it to him, Nick! Our friend who we've known for years is beating up and sexually assaulting someone."

Nick stared at him. "Oh my god," he said. "Holy shit. Did you call the police?" 

"No, I - I can't make Andy go through hundreds of interviews with them if he's not ready for it. Nick, he's fucking ruined. I sat with him for more than an hour and he couldn't understand how it was that I hadn't hurt him yet. I'd offer him water or food and he'd go, 'are you gonna make me do it?' I physically feel sick, and I haven't fucking slept, and I cant believe our friend is an abuser! Nick, Jude is fucking destroying this poor man's life!" All at once, Noah burst into tears, shaking his head as Nick took him in his arms. 

"We'll help him, Noah." 

"Jude? Fuck that, I'm not helping him." 

"No. No, no, no. Andy. We'll help Andy." 

"Oh. Right. Yeah. I mean, if he wants us to. I told him I wouldn't go see him again unless he wants me too. I left my number if he needs anything, but I told him, if he doesn't want to see me again, that's fine. I can't pressure him." 

"Of course. You did the right thing." 

Noah wiped his eyes. "Listen, I don't know what we're gonna do, but I'm not letting Jude anywhere that fucking house. I don't know where he's gonna go, but Andy cannot deal with him anymore. I won't let him. He needs help, Nick. And even if he doesn't ever contact me, I need to do this for him." 

"I agree." 

"I can't face Jude right now. I'm really sorry to dump him on you, but-" 

"Noah, it's fine. I understand. Rather me than Andy." 

"Okay. Thanks." Noah's phone buzzed. He took it from his pocket. There was a message from an unsaved number: 'Is this Noah? It's Andy.' 

Noah: 'Hi, Andy. Yes, it is Noah. Good to hear from you.' 

Andy: 'Thank you for the things this morning.'

Noah: 'Of course, you're welcome. You doing okay?' 

Then a long gap in which Andy was typing, not typing, typing again. Noah was doubting he'd get a reply, but then Andy sent one word. 'No.' Noah hadn't expected such honesty from him but was glad he got it.

Noah: 'I'm sorry. Do you need anything?  I can drop round food etc?' 

Andy: 'Sorry, I don't want to disrupt you.'

Noah: 'No bother, I'm not busy. I can drop by if you like?'  

Andy: 'Okay. Thanks.'

Noah: 'I'll text when I'm outside.' 

Outside Andy's house, Noah waited more than two minutes for him to open the door, and despite having already seen his injuries the previous evening was still shocked at the sight. No wonder it had taken Andy so long to get to the door. He looked only half-conscious. 

"Hey," Noah said, trying to keep his voice level, to not let his anger at Jude out in Andy's presence. "I brought you some comfort foods if you what them. If not, that's okay, I can take them." He could tell Andy had been crying, could tell he was on the edge of tears still. 

"Thank you," Andy said shakily. There was blood running down his hand. "Will - will you help me?" He asked, was terrified as he spoke but knew he had to ask, had to try and believe that Noah was good, that he wasn't going to abuse his trust. 

"Of course. What do you need?" 

Moving away from the door, Andy let Noah in, automatically stepping back from him. Half expecting Noah to move forwards.

Noah stayed where he was. 

Andy cradled his hand, both of them shaking. "Please," he mumbled. "I can't - I  - I don't..." He was starting to cry again. "Please don't make me..." 

"You don't need to do it ever again," Noah assured him. 

Andy's eyes flickered between Noah and his bloody hand. "I need - I need help," he stuttered. "My - my hand, I - I cut it, and - and I can't - I - I can't - " Cutting himself off, he took an uneasy breath. 

"Can I see?" Noah asked, adding, in case his question could be taken as a threat, "Your hand." 

Andy looked at him. Everything was slightly blurry. Then he extended his arm towards Noah. 

"You cut it, you said?" 

Andy nodded. 

"Okay. That's okay. Can I help you to clean it?" 

"You won't - you - you're not gonna make me..?" 

"No, no, no. Never." 

"Promise?" 

"I promise," Noah replied. 

Blinking hot tears, Andy mumbled, "Please help." 

Noah nodded. "Of course. Anything you need. Why don't you come and sit in the kitchen? I'll find something to clean up the blood." 

"Okay." Andy swallowed, waited for Noah to walk ahead of him into the kitchen, didn't want to be in front of him because then he couldn't see him, couldn't be sure he wasn't going to make a move.