Remdy one shots

Unconditional Permission to Eat, Always

Trigger Warning: Eating disorder 

Committing to recovery after 5+ years of repeating the same ED cycle has definitely not been a straight line for me, and I think it's just as important for someone to recognise the signs of a relapse during recovery as it is to recognise the disorder in the first place, so that's why I'm writing this. Please please know that if you're struggling with an ED, I understand how isolating it can feel and if you at any point need someone to listen to you, I'm here!! And if you've been searching for a sign to choose recovery, maybe this could be it?? 

All my love (comments and votes always massively appreciated) <3  

* * * 

Andy was waiting at the restaurant and Remington was ten minutes late. Not unusual - he often lost track of time while putting on makeup - but it wasn't an isolated incident: two days ago, he had gone out for what he claimed was a walk and hadn't returned until well into the afternoon, hours after lunch. 

And yesterday morning, Andy had left early for a photoshoot, leaving a croissant for Remington's breakfast as he often did. But he had found it still in the paper bag, and when he brought it up, Remington had told him that he'd had yogurt and granola instead, that he didn't want the croissant. 

Andy knew for a fact there was no granola in the house. It was on the shopping list for the following day. 

He hadn't said anything then, didn't trust himself to word it the correct way, knew better than to risk sounding as though he was accusing, blaming, pointing a finger and saying, this is your fault, you're failing. Because it wasn't true. Remington wasn't failing and it wasn't his fault. 

He was almost half a year into recovery. At the beginning, the first two months at least, Andy had eaten almost every meal with him, as well as the three snacks he was required to ensure regular eating. But he was far enough in now that Andy had taken a slight step back, didn't want Remington to feel suffocated or worse, incapable. Besides, Remington was talking to his therapist, Abigail, every week, so if something was wrong, he was sure it'd be discussed.

So he sat for breakfast with his husband that morning, eating toast and sipping coffee, and he tried to determine whether he was being paranoid.

If something was going on, would Remington have already brought it up to Abigail, since he'd had a session just two days ago?

It was difficult to know; in the past, he had lied to every single person he spoke to in order to protect his then undiagnosed disorder from being discovered. In theory, he could do that again, if things escalated to such an extent that he was having trouble ignoring the unhealthy thoughts. 

So Andy didn't know what to think or what to do, didn't want to raise alarm over something that potentially wasn't an issue and yet couldn't bear the idea of not doing something if there was an issue. 

He would have stayed for lunch, too, but had an interview for a new solo album, and so he proposed they meet afterwards in their usual restaurant for dinner. Besides, it had been a good while since they'd gone out together without the company of friends or industry acquaintances. 

And now he was waiting at the restaurant, and ten minutes late, Remington still wasn't there. Andy checked his phone, the concern festering inside him, wondered if something had come up with his brothers, waited another five minutes before sending him a message. 

Andy: You coming?? 

No response after ten minutes. He stood, hadn't yet ordered and so could easily leave without waiting for the cheque, walked home in the evening light of summer. It was warm enough not to need anything more than the black hoodie he was wearing.