Andy opens the door, two weeks later, to discover that Remington is crying. He sends a gentle smile when the boy looks at him, sitting down and passing him the note of who he is. Remington's eyelashes are thick when they're wet.

Remington takes it and spends a moment processing the information. "Hi Andy," he mumbles, wiping his eyes.

The man smiles again. "You okay?"

Shrugging, Remington looks at the paper again. "Just a little lonely."

Andy wants to hug him. "I'm sorry, I know it's not easy."

"No one ever visits me."

"You have visitors every day," Andy tells him, "me, your brothers, your friend Lonny. We all come and see you."

Remington wipes his eyes again. "Oh," he whispers.

"Do you remember who you saw yesterday?"

He shakes his head.

Andy sighs. He knows Remington has a piece of paper reminding him how to work out who each of them is. "He has green eyes. Do you know anyone with green eyes?"

"Not you," the boy mumbles. Andy thinks he senses a splinter of humour. "You have blue eyes."

"I do."

"I like them."

"And I like your eyes."

Remington looks at him for a moment. "I remember seeing you." He averts his gaze thoughtfully. "Now I've seen you again, I think I remember." Automatically, he glances down at the paper, re-familiarising himself again with who he's talking to. Doctor Sanchez managed to 'train' him to do it by sitting with him every day for around an hour and encouraging him to look at the paper whenever he forgot who she was. It seemed to have worked. "Because you're the pretty one."

Andy can't not chuckle. "Thank you. You're pretty, too. So... If it wasn't me with green eyes yesterday, who was it?"

"Green eyes..." Remington ponders, focussing hard to try and work it out. "One of my-my brothers," he says, "is that right?"

"Absolutely."

"I don't know which."

"His hair is parted down the middle."

"Uh..." His face is fixed in concentration. Andy thinks it's cute. "Oh! I know! Sebastian. It was Sebastian!"

Andy grins. "There you go, bang on."

Remington grins back. "Sebastian was here," he murmurs, looking at Andy again. "And you're...you're..." His eyes flick down to the paper. "You're Andy. Andy, with blue eyes." He smiles. "Andy, my husband."

"Your husband. That's right."

At that, Remington seems to ease up, as though there's something in his mind that still recalls the love he has for Andy. "Sorry I was crying."

"It's okay, you don't need to apologise. Do you feel better now?"

Nodding, Remington yawns.

"Tired?"

"Always tired." He rubs his eyes. "Thanks for visiting me. It gets lonely."

Andy smiles. A sincere, husband-to-husband, smile. "I can imagine. I'm glad I came. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you..." Again, he adopts the concentrated expression, Andy looking at him because he knows he's using his eyes colour to work out who he is. "Andy," he finishes, with a look of accomplishment. "It's good to see you, Andy." He re-positions the pillow and settles down into it. "When you leave," he begins quietly, "I'll be lonely again. Because I know I can't remember things." He sighs. "Like...like when you go, I'll forget that you were here, and then I'll be lonely again. And I keep trying to remember things but the more I try, the more annoyed I get, and it's useless." Another sigh. "And I wish I could remember why I'm like this. What happened?"

"Let me write it down for you," Andy suggests, "can I have that paper?"

Remington nods and the man reaches for it, picking up the pen that Dr Sanchez left on the side. He writes in as few words as possible that Remington fell and cracked his head, that he's in hospital so they can help him feel better because he isn't well. Remington reads it when it's handed back. "Okay," he whispers, "thanks, Andy."

In their manager's office sits Sebastian, Emerson, Andrew, and Johnny (bassist), somewhat tense because they're about to break the news for the first time.

"Thank you for meeting us," Sebastian says, "I know it was short notice."

Their manager, Sophie, smiles. "No problem, boys. It's good you're here, actually. I've been meaning to discuss your next tour for a while."

The band wince collectively.

"What is it?" She asks.

None of them want to reply.

"C'mon, spill. What's going on?"

Emerson averts his gaze and shakes his head. "It's...it's Remington," he mumbles.

Sophie raises an eyebrow. "What about Remington? You're not about to tell me he's left the band, are you? Is that why he's not here."

"No," the drummer says timidly, "it's worse."

"Oh? Do elaborate."

"He, uh, he..."

Sebastian cringes at the awkward situation. "He cracked his head," he interrupts, "in the shower. I mean, he cracked his head. Andy thought he was dead, there was so much blood."

"And he's in hospital now?"

The four nod silently.

"Do you know how long they're saying it'll take for him to recover?"

Another wince and Sebastian plays with the hem of his shirt, agitated. "He, uh..."

"Well?" She urges.

"Look, before any decisions are made, please consider that it's completely out of our control."

"Whatever decisions are made will be made for the good of the band and the label."

Emerson and Sebastian share hesitant glances. It's Emerson who mumbles, "he has memory loss."

Sophie leans forwards. "In what way?" She asks.

"In the way that he can't remember shit and anything he's told, he forgets after two minutes."

"Ah, I see. Is there a cure?"

"A cure?" Sebastian asks.

She nods hopefully.

"No."

"What, really? The doctors can't do anything?"

"They're trying to work out how to fix it but it's not looking good."

At Sebastian's comment, she hums. "What does he remember? Is there a chance he could re-learn your songs. He's a quick learner."

"He's now also a quick un-learner. He can't hold shit in his brain, Sophie, not a thing. We have to write down who we are every time we visit so he doesn't have to keep asking."

"Right," she says to herself. "It's difficult, huh?"

"You don't say," the guitarist mumbles spitefully. "Any ideas?"

"Yes. We hold auditions. You tour with a new singer."

The group look at her in equal shock. "No way," Andrew says, "there's not way we're doing that. Remington would be devastated and no one would buy tickets. Palaye is only Palaye because of his voice."

"Remington doesn't need to be told."

"Sorry?" Emerson asks, sharing glances with his brother.

"If he remembers nothing, he doesn't know he's even in a band. It won't do him no harm."

"Unbelievable."

"This is your only option, guys. It's either this or you risk getting dropped by your label."

"Our singer is suffering, we're not just gonna fucking audition for a new one!" Sebastian insists loudly. "He's our brother, Sophie, and he needs support, not to fucking lose his band, alright? No way. We're not doing it."