*hums while playing around with my torturing-the-readers knife*

Emile's POV:

As I padded quietly back into the courtroom, surrounded by everyone else, the coldness immediately pressed in against me. 

I shivered involuntarily, squeezing my eyes closed and breathing out. Looking around again, I saw the jury standing in the doorway, huddled together, the judge, leaning casually against her podium, and Andy, who was sitting with his legs crossed and his expression dark. 

Blinking quickly, I sat down on one of the freezing chairs and winced as the cold wood brushed against my bare skin. It felt like I was sitting in an ice bath, except there was no water. I pulled my hands back into my sleeves and sighed, letting my gaze drift to the podium. 

Lia had walked right by us, and was talking in low tones to the judge. I glanced at them, and then back at my friends. "What do you think is going to happen?" I whispered, trying to ignore the beating thrums of anxiety humming along my gut. 

"I don't know," Roman replied, his gaze fixed on the jury. "But I do hope it all goes well." He looked at me, smiling. "Remember, we're friends."

I gave him a small grin in return. "To be honest," I sighed, pulling at my sleeves, "I'm not going to miss this town much."

Virgil raised an eyebrow with a small smirk. "Oh? Why's that?" he questioned. 

I shrugged, glancing around at the imposing courtroom, the tall pillars, the sparkling chandelier, the hard, decisive faces of the jury-- they had made a decision. 

"No matter what..." I swallowed, tracing the grain of the wood in my bench. "Bad memories."

Remy looked over at me, his expression full of unreadable emotions, but I looked away. Heat still filled my face whenever I remembered, or even looked at Remy, and I wished it would just stop being so awkward. 

But this wasn't the time, I reminded myself, shaking my head a little. I did not need to think about this when there were more important things to think about. 

However, no matter what I was thinking about, my thoughts kept trailing back to the dusky atmosphere, the warmth and realization spilling over me like loose sunshine, the quiet, breathless laughter and the soft feeling of our hands tangled together. 

The judge interrupted my daydreaming with a short cough. 

I turned sharply to look at the podium, blinking away whatever thoughts I had been thinking-- nope, I was not going to think about that right now. 

And as if the universe agreed with me, as soon as I turned back to the stand an unnerving, eerie chill set in my shoulders. I felt myself tensing, watching the faces-- once smiling, chatting and whispering-- now hard, decisive, and possibly ruining the life of my friends. 

The crystal chandelier spun slowly on its slim, silver chain, the light sparkling in a million cold different ways, shimmering like a mirage on the tiled, polished floor. The windows let in sunlight, as much as before, but now it was cold; more white than yellow and orange. 

I squeezed my hands into tight fists, feeling everything at once. 

The stares. 

The cold. 

The pain. 

The uncertainty. 

The dread. 

One juror, a woman with orange-brown hair dyed a tawny blonde, stepped forward to the podium. She looked apologetic, but I couldn't figure out who she was apologizing to. Her gaze cast around the room, landing on each of us. 

The aura, the chilling, dripping thrill settled into my gut, heavy and silent as sulfur, my expression pained and twisted. 

"We have decided," the woman called out, her voice thick and chiming. She was obviously used to speaking in front of a crowd, her eyes were trained on all of us and her posture was commanding. "The jury--" she motioned to the group of people behind her-- "has made a decision of whether Andy Rockhold Mae shall be imprisoned for obstruction of justice, illegally carrying a firearm, physical and verbal abuse, and destruction of government property... or not."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to me. "Destruction of what now?" he whispered. 

I pulled anxiously on my sleeves, keeping my eyes trained on the jury. "Government property," I replied back in a hushed voice. "He, um, broke some things in the hospital. I still haven't gotten the smell of that stuff out of my hair."

Patton made a facial expression that I thought was supposed to look menacing, but it looked more like a kitten trying to hiss. "I really, really, really don't like him," he muttered, his gaze darting around the room. "He's just... awful." Patton bit his lip and looked down at the floor. 

Trying to be comforting, I put one hand over his own. "I know," I said quietly. "And that's why we'll win, okay?"

"You don't know that," Patton whispered, his voice breaking a little. "I-- I don't know that..." He squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders beginning to shake again. 

Logan pulled Patton's glasses off and wiped his tears away gently, then gave the glasses back with a soft, quiet smile. He didn't say anything, just kissed Patton on the forehead and let the other pull himself a little closer. 

I turned towards the jury again, who were now talking about formalities and all that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Remy sitting on a bench, his hands curled tightly into themselves and his breathing shallow. 

I wanted to be there for him, I could feel myself aching to try and help him. I always wanted to help him, because it was always worth it-- no matter what. When he gave me a smile, I felt myself glowing from the inside. 

The feeling of longing grew, but I pushed it away, biting my lip. The jury continued rambling about something I didn't know and faded into background sound, white noise, an empty canvas for my thoughts to paint bold colors. 

I shouldn't try to approach Remy. 

He probably doesn't want to talk to me anyway, not right now. 

The air pressed in on me, the chill biting and sharp. I felt overwhelmed, a burning need to curl into myself and close my eyes, my ears, my lungs until this feeling of too much, this feeling of everything at once left.

Deep breath in, I reminded myself, trying to fill my lungs with cool air. 

Deep breath out. 

10...

9...

8...

7...

6...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1.

"Guilty."

---

I was in the court gardens with Remy, surrounded by pale green ferns and beautifully colored flowers. 

The slight chill still hung miserably in the air, and I shook my head, still trying to breathe. 

"I can't believe it," Remy murmured, sitting at the table with a numb expression on his face. His glasses were off, and he stared blankly at the petunia on the other side of him. "We really... did it."

"Yeah," I replied, breathless. "We did it." 

Remy slumped slightly, a flicker of something agonizingly painful flashing on his face. "Do you remember what he said?" he asked quietly.

I bit my lip. "...yeah."

"How could you?" Andy spat at Remy. He had the other cornered in a hallway,  and I was watching with terrified helplessness, frozen in place and unable to move. "How could you do this to me?!"

Remy opened and closed his mouth, his eyes wide and horrified. "I-- I just--"

Andy grabbed Remy's arm and dug his nails in, narrowing his eyes when Remy let out a pained, stifled whimper. "I thought you loved me," he growled, leaning in close. "You told me you loved me."

"I'm sorry," Remy begged, tears slipping down his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

With venom, Andy shoved Remy into the wall. "You better have a damn good reason for doing this!" he shouted, the words echoing off the corridor walls. "I loved you. And what, you got angry at me every time I made a mistake?"

He scowled. "You made all the fucking mistakes except for a few, Rem, and yet you still felt entitled to get mad?" Andy squeezed Remy's wrist. "I told you I loved you."

Remy cried out, flinching back. "I'm sorry!"

"Have you forgotten already?!" Andy whispered, his mouth twisted into a kind of half-smile. "That one time? Even when you cried like a baby and left the house for two days, didn't answer my calls or texts, I still forgave you!"

A rush of anger swept over me and I stepped forward, growling. "Stop it!" I yelled at Andy.

He scoffed. "Oh, so now you're his bitch?" He looked me over, and a sense of oozing dread leaked over me. "Fine. Don't forget to visit, babe." 

Andy sent one last look at Remy and walked off, snarling. 

I bit my lip. "What did he mean... that one time?" I glanced at Remy, and he flinched a little bit. 

"It-- it's nothing," he replied quickly, his voice breaking. "Really, I promise!"

"It's okay, Remy, it's fine," I said, stepping around the table. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never. I promise." My voice was soft and quiet, and I wrapped my arms around Remy, squeezing him in a hug--

He cried out, pushing me away and falling out of his chair, suddenly turning from a numb expression to raggedly terrified eyes, tears pooling at the edges. 

I blinked several times, surprised and slightly hurt. "Remy, what..."

Remy started to sob, curling into himself and shaking wretchedly, his shoulders heaving. "I-- I'm sorry," he whimpered, looking up at me through his wet eyelashes. "I'm sorry! I didn't m-mean-- I didn't mean to do that!"

A flicker of realization hit me, and I sat there in half-stunned silence. 

Think about all the times Andy must have said that, must have promised he wouldn't hurt him.

I swallowed, guilt pouring through me. Why didn't I think of that before? I'm supposed to be a therapist! I know these things!

Remy squeezed his hands into fists, making little whimpers. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry."

"Remy, shh, it's fine," I soothed, standing up and wincing as I put weight on my leg. "It's-- fine, believe me." I stepped back, showing my hands calmly, trying not to be threatening. "I'm not ever going to hurt you."

He gasped for breath, tears still streaming down his face. "I-- you--"

I walked towards him now, sitting quietly down on the leaves. "Remy, it's alright," I whispered. "Hey, it's fine. Breathe."

He shook his head, taking deep lungfuls of air and breathing out, hiccuping. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away from me. "I-- I shouldn't have done that."

"Can-- can I--" I motioned to myself, and then to him.

Remy paused, and then nodded, letting me pull him into another hug. He breathed deeply for a few more seconds, his body relaxing, and then curled into me as he began crying all over again. 

"Emile--" he cut himself off with a horrible sob. "Emile, how could I have done this?"

I looked at him, a little confused. "You mean..."

He drew back, his cheeks tearstained. "How could I have done that to Andy?" he asked in a broken, lost voice. "He said he loved me, that he wouldn't do it again. And he's right, he loved me, and I loved him." He crumpled into himself, his face shattering. 

"Emile, how could I do that to someone I loved?!"

"Shh," I murmured desperately. "Remy, you don't need to love him anymore. He certainly doesn't. You-- you can move on." I looked at him for a long moment, sorrow leaking out of my eyes with the tears. "You're strong enough, I know you are."

Remy looked up at me. "You made me strong enough," he whispered. 

I shook my head, feeling a tear drip down my face. "No, you did that all by yourself."