We All Have Disappointments

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Trigger warnings: Mentions of depression, suicide, death, self harm, sex


Remington reluctantly gets in the car. He grips the door handle so tight that his knuckles turn white, and each time a vehicle passes on the other side of the road, Andy notices his quickened breathing and tensed posture. By the time they're pulling into the driveway, he's started to cry again. 

"What happened?" Andy asks, pulling the keys out of the ignition. 

Without replying, Remington gets out the car, waiting at the front door for Andy to unlock it. He walks into the house and abruptly shouts, "This is all your fault!" 

Closing the door, Andy leans his head against it for a moment. "I'm not arguing with you," he says calmly.

"It never would have happened if you didn't force me to go!" 

Andy goes through to the kitchen. "I'm sorry for whatever it is that happened, but I'm not gonna argue with you about it, or about anything, so go and sit down or punch a cushion or something until you no longer want to rip my head off. Then come back and tell me what happened." 

Remington, pulling out a chair and sitting in it, unties his laces. "I knew I never should have listened to you. God, as soon as you get involved with anything, you fuck everything up." 

"For God's sake, just put your head on the table for five minutes and calm down. I'm not doing this." 

"Oh, look at you, being all mature, and clever! You think you're so fucking perfect, don't you?" 

"I really don't. Now either shut up or just fucking tell me what happened." 

"It's all your fault!" 

Andy shakes his head, sighs. "Just tell me what happened," he urges. "What did she do?" 

"It doesn't matter!" 

A dry laugh. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it doesn't. You seem to not be bothered by it at all." 

"Shut your mouth." 

"Alright, alright, calm down. I don't see how I'm to blame for any of this. You're in a bad place, all I've been doing is trying to help." 

"You're not very good at trying," Remington spits. 

"You know, every time you get mad at me, it just makes me worry about you more." 

"Why? 'cause I'm gonna go fucking slit my wrists with a pencil sharpener? You wanna stop me from slitting my fucking wrists with a fucking pencil sharpener?" 

"When the fuck did I say that?" 

"You implied it!" 

"How? How did you employ that from anything I just said?" The man shakes his head again. "Oh, I see what's happening. That's what your therapist said, isn't it?" 

A long, angry pause. Then, "She is not my therapist." 

"Went that bad?" 

"What do you fucking think, genius? Why else would I have been fucking having a mental breakdown outside her office?" 

"To my defense, you have a breakdowns quite often." 

Remington looks at him, unimpressed. 

"What did she say?" 

"I don't want to tell you after you just insulted me." 

"Fine, don't, then. You can spend the evening trying not to cry and I'll pretend like I don't care. Is that what you'd prefer?" 

"Yes." 

"Perfect." He turns around and opens a cupboard, takes out a pan, not responding when Remington loudly huffs to gain his attention. He fills the pan with spaghetti and hot water to boil. 

Remington gets up, scraping the chair on the floor, and leaves the room. Then from the doorway, he asks, "You got a pencil sharpener?" 

Eyebrow raises, the elder turns back around. He strides over to Remington, takes him by the shoulders, and sits him back down. "Don't you dare move," he says, opening a drawer and routing through it, returning to the younger and placing a rubber fidget toy in his hand. 

Looking at the object and then up at Andy, Remington frowns. "What's this for?" 

"To take your anger out on. Better that than your poor arm. Now tell me what happened." 

"Why are you not being all pissy with me?" 

"Uh, because I don't want you to get blood on my bed again." He returns to the pan. "Besides, I'm not in the mood for an argument." 

"Can I keep this? It's cute." 

"Sure." 

"Thanks." 

Andy smiles, though Remington can't see. "No problem, babe." 

"Stop calling me babe if we can't be together, it makes me confused." 

"Sorry." 

"That was a hint at the fact we should be together." 

"I got that, yep." 

"And?" 

"And...you know what my answer is." 

A sigh. "But it's not like you're keeping your distance from me, though, is it? You showered with me, like, two weeks ago. That's not a thing non-couples do." 

"Yes, I did, because you needed the company." 

"I don't like it when you're being mature." 

"Aw, sorry. You can go find someone else to do all this for you, I won't stop you." 

"Fuck you." 

Andy begins chopping up an onion. "I heard you in the shower last night, by the way." 

A hesitation, then a laugh. "Heard me what, Biersack?" 

"Fiddling." 

"You're not supposed to listen." 

"It's my house and you were hogging the shower, don't blame me for wondering what was taking you so long. Was it worth it? Did you cum good?" 

Remington groans in dissatisfaction at the phrase, passing the rubber stress toy from hand to hand. "Wouldn't you like to know." 

"Oh, I don't care, I'm just making conversation." 

"It was very disappointing."

"Poor you." 

"It was hardly worth it at all."

"Oh no." 

"Stop using your sarcastic voice." 

"No thank you." 

Remington huffs. 

Andy turns to look at him. There's a smile playing at his features. "Now that you're calm, will you tell me what happened?" 

"She said I look the type to be dramatic and that lots of kids slit their wrists with pencil sharpeners and claim they're suicidal."

"Shit, really?" 

"She wanted me to tell her 'what taking my own life involved'." He looks down. "Basically she just triggered me and then made me feel bad about it." 

"That's awful, I'm sorry." 

"Thanks for picking me up." 

"Sure, anytime." 

"You know I'm still, like, in love with you, right?" 

Andy nods. "I know, me too, but it's just not a good idea right now." 

"I think you're wrong." 

"You always think I'm wrong." 

"Because you are." 

"You just keep having your disappointing orgasms and one day, I'll give you one worth waiting for, okay?" 

"Fine. Fuck you. You're a cunt." 

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