Trigger warning: Mentions of sexual assault, abuse (brief) 

"So, Biersack, how'd it go?" 

Andy looked up from his computer and towards the man in the doorway of his office, unimpressed. "How did what go?" He asked. 

Sitting in the chair before the desk, Jon said, "The wedding." 

"Well, Jon, maybe you should focus less on my life and more on the work that you haven't finished yet, hmm? Go on, get it done so we can go home before midnight." 

"I've done the work." 

"You know, it's funny, because you say that, and yet the file is still half-empty." Andy leant back and crossed his arms. 

"It's not really my area of expertise." 

"You applied for this job last year specifically explaining that the finance is your area, so don't try that with me. Now get it done, and if it's still not finished by seven pm tonight, you can bullshit your way into a different job. Got it?" 

"But Andy-" 

"Andrew." 

"I'm trying my best." 

"Are you? Or are you inviting yourself into my office to ask me about things that have nothing to do to you?" 

"I just thought-" 

"Jon, just go back to your desk and do your work, and I'll be checking at seven on the dot. Go on." He made a shooing motion with his hands and pulled his keyboard towards the edge of the desk, started to type. 

At seven, Andy checked the file again, pleased to see it completed, collected his things, and left for the night. 

The house was silent and he noticed straight away that the dishes had been washed, and not by his housekeeper, because she wasn't due for another half hour. Frowning, he went up the stairs and, after a moment's hesitation, knocked on Remington's door. "Hey," he said when it opened, could tell the Remington had been asleep. "Are you hungry? I'm making dinner, do you want me to make enough for you?" 

Remington looked at the ground, thought about what the right answer would be, and shook his head, though he was hungry and he did want something to eat. 

"Have you eaten since breakfast?" 

Now what was he supposed to say? 

"You know what, why don't you come down in half an hour and we'll eat together." 

"Okay," Remington said, wondering what it would be. Just verbal, or would it get physical, too? Would Andy be angry for something he'd done, or hadn't done? 

The man pressed an awkward smile. "Oh," he started. "Thanks for doing the dishes, but there really was no need. I appreciate it, though." 

You appreciate it, but in the violent way, right? Remington worried he was supposed to say something, but he had no idea what, and was both relieved and terrified when Andy spoke again. 

"How are the clothes? Do they fit okay?" 

Why? Are you gonna make me take them off? "Yes, thank you. They're fine." 

"Good, I'm glad. Sorry they're so plain, I didn't know what fashion you'd be into." 

"It's fine," Remington said again.

"Alright, well, come and have some dinner with me in half an hour. You like salmon?" Remington nodded, and Andy smiled, said, "Great, see you in a bit," and turned to walk away. 

Once he was gone, Remington shut the door and stood against it, wondered frantically what was going to happen to him down there. Maybe Andy would use a knife, or a rolling pin, or just his fist. Maybe he'd bend him over the counter and pound him into an early grave. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many different ways for him to get hurt, so many options. If only he knew Andy better, then he'd be able to anticipate what it would be. 

He kept a close eye on the time, made sure he'd be exactly right, that it'd be half an hour and not thirty one minutes, that he'd do everything he was told, everything Andy wanted. That was all he could think of doing.

When he stepped into the kitchen, Andy was pouring wine into two glasses, and, noticing Remington, he said, "Ah, good timing. Come sit down." 

Remington did. 

"It's alcohol free, I don't drink," Andy said, putting a glass on the table in front of him. "You just stayed in your room all day?" 

"Uh, yes." 

"How'd you sleep last night?" 

"Fine." 

With the food, Andy sat down, pushed a plate towards Remington. "I didn't sleep very well. I mean, I'm not usually a deep sleeper anyway, but since I signed for the wedding, I've been a walking zombie." 

Are you lying? Are you trying to gain my trust so you can abuse it? Are you really this nice?

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's what I do when I'm nervous." 

Why the fuck are you nervous? You're the one ruining my whole fucking life! 

"I know all of this is really scary, and I know you've probably seen the stuff in the news about men like me abusing men like you, and believe me, if I was in your position, I'd be having a heart attack. I'm not gonna touch you, I'm not gonna make you do anything, I just want you to have the life you hoped you'd have before they did this to you. Before I did this to you. Honestly, I hate myself for this, and I don't think I'll ever not hate myself for this, so please, just...Please know nothing's gonna happen to you." 

Remington looked at the plate to avoid looking at Andy. 

"If you wanna ask me anything, about anything, I'll do my best to answer. But please eat, I can hear your stomach rumbling." 

Remington picked up the fork. "How old are you?" He asked slowly. 

"Thirty-one. You're twenty-seven, yeah?" 

"Yes." 

Andy hummed. He really was trying to be friendly, Remington could tell. He just couldn't determine the genuineness of it.