band one-shots

lonely || remington leith

based on lonely by palaye royale so uh

tw: substance abuse, self harm, and most depression-related things along those lines !

ship: remington leith x reader

~

"Remington?"

He's still in bed, blankets curled around his still frame like a frozen snapshot. I can almost imagine the Polaroid in my hand, the click that will finally startle him awake. He'll jolt a bit, still in that hazy territory between dream and reality, before sitting up, and I'll bring him coffee in bed, and everything will be exactly like it is supposed to be.

Only this is the third time I've called for him and he hasn't moved an inch.

"Rem?"

To tell the truth, I'm terrified. More than I should be. He's in a deep sleep, that's all it is, I try to reason with myself, because I have no reason to suggest otherwise, but a gnawing fear claws at me, begging me to make sure, so I oblige. I strut across the room to the bed and gently shake his shoulder.

Remington doesn't stir. And unless, I'm imagining things, he's cool. Not stone cold, warmth still emanates, but it's clear his temperature has dropped a few degrees below what it should be.

I shake him harder, my breathe held between my lips.

His eyes slide open, one by one. The right one first, then the left. Pupils are dilated. My heart skips a beat. And then it skips another one. And I think I might fucking die.

"What'd you take?" I ask sharply, because I know what dilation means. I know there's something racing through his veins, I know there's a pill in the back of his throat. I know he's been self-medicating and it hurts that I'm only knowing now.

"Nothin'." He mutters, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes. They droop nonetheless, weighed down.

"Stop lying." The gentle tone present when I first tried to wake him up is long gone.

He doesn't grace that with a response, and I can't tell if the silence is a confession or a surrender. His eyes gaze at something in the distance, glazed over, like he's seeing everything and nothing at all at the same time.

"Rem?" I hope he can't hear how scared I am.

He shakes his head barely, just a tilt from side to side. Still staring. He looks lost. I notice an empty prescription container on the nightstand and swallow what feels like lead in the back of my throat. It's his anti-depressants. It shouldn't be empty, hell, it shouldn't even be close to empty, he refilled it a few days ago.

"Re-" I don't even finish saying his name this time, my tongue catches on the first syllable and lies in my mouth, numb, not moving, because of what I've caught sight of on his arm.

Lines etched into the skin. Red, closer to a pink shade because they've had time to fade, but still quite fresh. Scattered out in all directions like maybe he didn't care about the appearance, he was too eager to hurt.

I can't bear to look anymore, don't want to, because if I do I might cry. I reach for my phone in my back pocket and sit down gingerly next to Rem, dialing 911 with one hand as I stroke his hair with the other hand, still not looking at him.

Only it's futile because tears are dripping down my cheeks anyway.

~

The hospital is cold and quiet; the silence is broken only by beeping, and each beep makes me want to tear my hair out. But Remington is awake. Silent, and refusing to look at me, but he's awake and he doesn't look lost anymore; I'll take whatever miracles I can get.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine I'm just glad you're alive," I blurt out, even though none of this is fine, and I can barely recall what it feels like to be fine, even though that was only this morning. I'm not going to tell Remington this though, because I can tell by the look in his eyes that he already hates himself enough for doing this.

His wrists peek out from the hospital sheets and I can't stop my eyes from landing on them again. Instinctively, he draws them back and I avert my gaze, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, because now it's my turn to say it.

He blinks. "For what?"

"For not knowing."

"How were you supposed to know?" He smiles bitterly and reaches an arm out. I fall into it, laying down on the hospital bed with him. "Y/N, when's the last time you saw my arms?"

I realize that I genuinely can't remember.

Remington watches the realization sink in and quietly kisses my cheek. "It's not your fault, it's mine, for being fucked up."

"No it's not—" I protest, but his look stops me. "Why?"

It's a loaded question and I don't know what I'm expecting but Remington's tiny shake of his head isn't it.

"You can't just tell me 'No', I want to help—"

"Bad memories, okay? That's all it is. I don't want to think about it, and I fucking did, and this happened, okay?" His voice goes brittle before trailing off into, "I'm sorry, I know I could've ended up dead."

"Please don't end up dead."

"I'm trying not to. But it's hard, and I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

I lay there next to him until the hospital is forced to give his bed to someone who needs it more, and even then I still cling to him on the drive home.

~

writing in first person SUCKS and i hate it but i like making x-readers bc i know a lot of y'all are into that and i am too tbh and writing x readers in third person [like i usually write] is wEIRD

anyway whatever be safe during the quarantine and wash your hands or i'll summon josh dun to do it for u :)

[also i started a vampire!gawsten fic so check that out if u want i would appreciate it v much!