Trigger Warning: Verbal/physical abuse, depression, suicide, self-harm/injury, anxiety

* * * 

"I like your tattoos," Noah said, with the fourth new antiseptic wipe between his fingers. There had been a lot of blood on Andy's arm; it was clear he was having trouble looking after himself because lots of it was stubbornly dry, probably there for at least a day. 

"Oh," Andy said, not expecting the compliment. "Thanks." He was considerably calmer now; Noah had been right about the sugar helping. 

"I'm running out of room," Noah told him. "For more tattoos, I mean. I got addicted to them." 

"I want more," Andy said. 

"Yeah?" 

"But I'm not - he said I'm not allowed." 

"That's bullshit. It's not his skin." 

Andy hadn't take his eyes off Noah's hands for the entirety of the time he spent wiping the blood. It was comforting how gentle Noah was being, how frequently he checked that he wasn't hurting him. "He said it is." 

"He said your skin belongs to him?" 

"Wait, is that...is that wrong?" 

Noah was suddenly about to cry. Andy had become so used to Jude's abuse that he didn't even know how fucked some of it was. "It's your body," he told him. "You can do what you want with it. If you want more tattoos, the only one to make that decision is you. Nobody ever has the right to tell you they own any part of you." 

"Oh," Andy whispered. "But he said..." 

"I know. And I'm so sorry. But he was wrong, I promise. Your body is your body." 

Andy said nothing. He didn't know how to respond to that. 

"Alright, there we go. All done." Noah let go of his arm and stood from the coffee table.

Andy leaned back instinctively. "Thanks." 

"You're welcome." He dropped the used wipes into the bin under the television. "Can I do anything else for you? Or do you want me to go?" 

Still, Andy's head hurt. The thought of being left alone, of having to do everything for himself, was overwhelming. "Can - can you stay?" 

Noah smiled. "Of course." 

"You won't make me..?" 

"No, never. I promise." 

"Okay." He lifted his hand to his face, rubbed his eyes, regretted it when he touched the dark bruise. Teared up at the pain. "Noah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Did you - did you mean it?" 

"Did I mean what?" 

"You'll listen." 

"Of course. Do you wanna talk?" 

Andy sunk further into the couch. His body was desperate for more sleep than he could give it. "I don't know." 

"If you do, you let me know, okay? But no pressure, it's up to you." 

"Okay." 

"Do you want to go to bed?" Noah asked, quickly adding, "on your own. You must be so exhausted."

At the suggestion, Andy started to cry again. He stuttered through tears, "I can't." 

"Why not?" Noah asked. 

"The - the stairs, they're too much." 

"Too much? You're too tired to get up them?" 

Andy nodded shamefully. 

"That's okay. Can I help you?" 

"That means you'll - that means you'll touch me." 

"Yeah. Just on your shoulders. Would that be okay?" 

"You promise just shoulders?" 

"I promise." 

Andy thought for a moment. Noah hadn't done anything yet to break his promises, and Andy didn't want to spend another night barely sleeping because he couldn't face the stairs. "Okay," he whispered. "Just shoulders." 

"Just shoulders," Noah confirmed.  

Slowly, Andy got up from the couch. Everything hurt. He waited for Noah to walk ahead of him until they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Noah stood beside him, said, "Gonna put my arm around your shoulders, okay?"

"Okay." 

"If you don't feel okay with it, you just tell me and I'll let go."

"Okay." 

Lifting his arm, Noah let his hand make contact with Andy's shoulder. "Okay?" He asked. 

Andy nodded. 

"There aren't any bruises I'm touching?" 

"No." 

"Alright, good. You can lean into me as much as you need, I'll make sure you don't fall." Holding both shoulders, Noah guided Andy up the first step, could tell it was going to be something of a challenge. Andy seemed only half-conscious. His body was trembling, both with his constant fear and because of how exhausted he was. It was obvious that he had been struggling the past week with taking care of himself and that if Noah didn't help him now, he'd only continue to decline. It was no wonder he was talking about killing himself. Noah would have felt the same in his situation. It was no way to live. 

Andy was still crying. Everything in him was weak and sore and even with Noah supporting him, the stairs seemed impossibly steep. 

"You're doing so good," Noah said quietly. 

Andy was relying further on him with each step. "I feel sick," he mumbled. 

"Do you need to sit down for a little bit?" 

Andy shook his head. He wanted to get to the top soon, didn't think delaying it by sitting down would help. The action of shaking his head made the pain considerably worse and he lost his balance, stumbling into Noah.

Barely managing to keep himself upright, Noah steadied Andy, wondered if he hadn't eaten much the past week and was struggling partly because of the lack of food. He decided he'd ask about that once they weren't at risk of falling down the stairs. 

"Sorry," Andy stuttered. He felt ready to collapse to the ground. 

"You're okay. Can we keep going?" 

"Yeah." 

Noah helped him up the remaining stairs slowly. When they reached the top, he made sure Andy was steady before letting go of him.

Almost immediately, Andy fell onto his hands and knees. It felt like there was someone pushing him down even though he knew there wasn't. He looked up at Noah and mumbled, "Do I - do I need to - to do it?" 

"No. Absolutely not." 

"Okay."

Noah crouched so that he wasn't towering over him, figured Andy didn't need to be intimidated like that. "Do you need a hand to your bed?" He asked. 

"A hand? Like...a - a hand?" 

"No. No, no, no. Sorry. My fault. No. I just mean, do you need some help getting there?"  

"Oh. Yes please." Andy raised his arms for Noah to take, letting him pull him off the ground. He leaned against his chest, not trusting his own legs to keep him stable, then realised how warm and safe Noah felt. And he was so desperate for some form of comfort that it made him ache. 

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Noah, half-expecting him to push him away or say something degrading. 

But Noah just reciprocated the hug, careful not to hold him too tightly so that if he waned to move back, he could. 

Andy was a few inches shorter than Noah. His head fitted against his shoulder perfectly. He took a deep breath in. 

"Okay?" Noah asked. The fact that Andy was so in need of comfort as to hug someone who he barely knew at all was heart breaking, but he was glad that he had earned enough trust and that he could be of some support. He hated to think what would happen, how Andy would cope, if he had no one. The poor man couldn't even get up the stairs on his own, never mind the countless number of tasks it took to survive daily. 

Andy didn't know how it was possible that he wasn't terrified of Noah but fuck was he thankful for it. He nodded against him. He was so incredibly exhausted and his headache hadn't gotten much better. Slowly, he let go of Noah and stepped back from him. Noah's arms were off him immediately. 

Walking ahead of him, Noah opened the bedroom door, didn't turn on the lights. He stood by the wardrobe as Andy sat on the bed, asking, "Apart from the biscuits, have you eaten much the past few days?" 

"Not really," Andy answered. 

"Can I make you something? I'll bring it up here." 

"Okay." 

"Text me if you need anything. I'll just be downstairs." 

"Okay. Thanks."