Shame On You! (Remdy)

5

Trigger Warning: Depression, self-harm, blood/injury

5 chapters in a day?! 

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That night, Remington slept - or tried to sleep - on the couch. After their argument, he'd made sure not to cross paths with Oliver for the rest of the evening, skipped brushing his teeth so he wouldn't have to go into their bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush. Fortunately, there was a small downstairs toilet. 

For some time, he lay on the couch with his eyes open, knew that if he closed them, he'd start crying. He listened to the occasional car that drove by, had a sudden vision of Andy driving home from the studio in his sleek black car, could almost feel the man's calm presence. 

They had become friends through Andy's podcast, when he invited Palaye in for an episode. The day after filming it, Remington had gotten a text from Andy asking if he was by any chance still around. They had gone for lunch, and that was it.

They were friends from there, and had never faltered in their communication, though it was difficult to find time to see eachother between stretches of touring and recording. It was why Remington didn't want Andy to know about what was happening now; he wanted them to be friends, not for their relationship to turn into that of a give-and-take situation, as he feared it had with his brothers. 

He didn't know how long he slept and how long he lay awake, but when morning came around and Oliver was in the kitchen making coffee before work, Remington sat up and thought about going to apologise, thought about saying he was being stupid and had no right to get upset over something like this. It wasn't true, but if he did it, he'd at least have the small comfort of not being in a fight with the man he had just moved in with. 

Perhaps it was the move that had caused this, he then wondered. All his life, he had lived with his brothers, or had lived very close by, within walking distance. And now it was a fifteen minute car journey to get to either of them, and he had seen them less since the move than he had since he was born. He didn't know how to deal with that. 

Oliver left without either of them saying anything, and once he was gone, Remington lay back down and tried to sleep. It felt as though he hadn't slept in a week. 

Giving up, he ventured up to the bedroom to find his phone, plugging it in beside the coffee table and returning to the couch as it turned on. He had more messages from Andy, and a missed call from Emerson and two from Sebastian. Andy's messages read: 

Tuesday: 

Everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a few days. 

We're taking the weekend off so if you wanna do anything, I'd love to. 

Wednesday:

Are you upset with me? You keep ignoring me? If I've done something, I'm sorry, please tell me so I can not do it again. Hope I've not done anything! 

Thursday: 

Please reply so I know you've not been abducted! 

Shitty joke, but seriously, is everything okay? It's not like you to be off your phone for so long. 

Friday: 

If you don't tell me otherwise, I'm coming over tomorrow morning. Worried about you. Your brothers said you aren't answering them, either. What's going on? 

Are you okay? 

Is something going on with Oliver? 

Do you need anything from the shop tomorrow? 

Okay, see you tomorrow. Hope everything is okay. Let me know if I can pick up anything for you. 

With a start, Remington realised that it was Saturday, that Andy could arrive at any moment. He started typing, making up an excuse, claiming he was out, but before he managed to compose a message that worked, the doorbell rang, and he halted. 

Andy couldn't see him like this - he'd been wearing the same clothes for what must have been at least a week, his shirt sleeve crusted with blood, and hadn't stepped under the shower since the first argument with Oliver, nine days ago. There was no way that Andy could see him like this. 

Unmoving, he listened to the doorbell ring for the second time, eyes filling. As expected, his phone buzzed. Andy was telling him he was outside. He opened the message, then realised Andy would see it had been opened, and continued trying to come up with an excuse about why he wasn't in, but was interrupted by an incoming phone call. He ended it immediately, before he read the name, though he knew it was Andy. 

The doorbell rang again. He stayed where he was, imagined himself opening the door and falling into Andy's arms with a series of sobs. He imagined Andy holding him tight and telling him everything was okay, imagined the sound of his voice and the warmth of his arms and his chest and his existence. Still, he stayed where he was. 

Then Andy was gone; Remington heard the slam of a car door and the buzz of the engine. And he was alone, and he had done it to himself. 

Oliver was early that evening, arriving with a clatter, muttering to himself about things Remington didn't care to listen to. Upon seeing the singer watching him, he slowed, partway through unzipping his coat, and frowned. Then he said, "I'm going out later. Staff party." 

Remington just nodded. Over and over, he kept imagining himself opening the door to Andy, for a moment could almost smell the man's usual cologne. He couldn't recall ever needing a hug so much as he did then. He realised Oliver was speaking again. 

"I'll be back late, so lock the door, okay?" 

Nodding, Remington paid little attention. 

"And Remington?" 

Now, he blinked out of his imaginary hug. Was Oliver about to apologise? 

"I really don't know why you're being so dramatic about all this." 

Without responding, Remington turned away. There was nothing he wanted more, in that moment, than to fall into Andy's arms with a series of sobs.