Trigger warnings: Brief mention of suicide

It's odd for everyone when Andy returns home from the hospital. They try not to make a big deal out of it, or to show excessive concern over his safety, but considering the number of times he tried to end his life prior to the stay, it's easier said than done.

Andy is glad to see his own house again. He missed the building more than he thought he would, and even though he's been away from it for months at a time because of touring, somehow this time feels different. Being at home has never felt more important to him than it does now.

It's Sebastian that drives him home, stopping himself from asking how he is because he assumes it'll just be annoying after all that Andy has been doing the past couple of weeks is talking about how he feels.

There isn't much to carry in from the car; he wasn't given time to pack anything substantial. All he has is a small bag of clothes. Andy dumps it in the porch and heads for the kitchen, saying to Sebastian who's following, "boy, it's good to be back."

"I'm sure," Sebastian responds, "we filled up your fridge and everything yesterday so you don't need to do too much shopping. There's milk and that."

"Oh, thanks. You didn't have to do that." He pulls open the large fridge. "Huh, I don't see no alcohol."

Sebastian gives him an unimpressed look.

"Kidding. I much prefer a glass of milk." He closes the fridge and the front door opens. Andy turns to see who it is.

"Hi Andy," Emerson greets, "it's good to see you."

"And you. And you."

Remington grins from beside his brother.

"We wanted to come see you for a bit," the drummer explains, "we won't hang around too much, I know you'll be keen to get back to normality."

"Oh, okay." Andy looks at Remington again. "I wanna talk to you," he says, "come upstairs with me."

Remington glances at Emerson, who nods, and then begins for the stairs behind Andy. "What is it?" He asks, once they're say on the man's bed. Well, their bed.

"I just wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you came and saw me in hospital."

The boy looks at their hands on the bed, almost touching but not quite. "I wanted to see you more," he admits, "but they didn't let me."

Andy lifts his eyes to meet Remington's. "Really, you did?"

"Mhm." His voice is soft. "'Cause I missed you and I...I realised that I...you're important to me."

"That could make me cry but I'm not gonna let it."

"And I'm really glad you're back now."

"Me too, love. I'm glad to be back."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Remington hesitates and then says, "do you still...love me?"

The question makes Andy smile for a second or two. "I couldn't ever not love you. Even when you're being a dickhead I love you."

"But what if I don't?"

"If you don't love me?"

Remington nods.

"I don't expect you to."

"But doesn't it...make you sad?"

Andy sighs. "I won't lie to you, Remington. Of course it makes me sad. Knowing my husband doesn't love me isn't exactly what I had in mind when I married you. But I know you're trying your best to get back on track and to remember what you can and if I were to abandon you for that, what sort of husband would that make me?" His gaze flicks from Remington to the bed and back again. "When we met, you were adamant about it being purely platonic. For, like, three years, you insisted we were 'just friends' even though we'd fucked and shit. You were so scared of coming out, I honestly thought you might just never have done it. I had to propose for you to tell your brothers. I mean, they obviously knew because it was fucking obvious, but you couldn't tell them you were gay until we were planning the wedding. You've always preferred keeping our relationship pretty private. Nearly all of those photos in your gallery have only ever been seen my you and me. It's never been a thing for you, announcing our love." He smiles. "It's hard now. Knowing that you probably don't feel that way anymore. But I couldn't ever just give up on you. You're much too important for me to do that to you, no matter what you've done or said."

"I want to feel that way again."

"Yeah?"

"I do feel something. Like...like I want to be with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He takes Andy's hand. "I want you to take me to the beach."

"I'll definitely take you to the beach."

"The same one where we...fuck. The word is...met. The same one where we met."

"Absolutely, love. I would love to go to the beach with you."

"And," Remington mumbles, "I want you to kiss me right now."

Andy catches his eyes in a rather intensely private stare. "Okay," he whispers.

The kiss is sweet. Much sweeter than the previous time. And even if Remington might not be feeling love, as such, Andy knows something is there. They're not strangers, at least. No, they're more than strangers, more than friends, even. They have to be.