Trigger warning. Homophobia, eating disorder mentions, mild panic attack.

The café Emerson wanted to meet Remington in is fairly busy, tourists and a couple of locals buzzing around, ordering coffees and hot chocolates and cream scones. Remington buys himself a tea, pulling the hoodie Andy gave him down as he waits for the barista to make his drink. He isn't sure how this is going to go, isn't sure why Emerson wanted to meet here and not just at home. Remington feels better at home.

With the drink in his hand, he finds an empty table and waits for his brother, who arrives just two minutes later, buying a coffee and joining Remington with a smile. "Hey," he greets, "it's been a while."

Remington nods. "Yep," he says awkwardly, circling a finger around the rim of the white mug.

"So...how are you doing? How's Andy?"

"Fine. He's fine. Everything's fine."

Emerson sighs. He wishes his brother would be more open with him. But he gets it, he really does. Remington doesn't trust him, not really. Not after everything that has been said. The times he told Remington to kill himself, blamed him for his eating disorder. He gets it. "What've you been up to? Any new songs?"

Remington shrugs. "We're recording one next week, remember," he says, "the one I wrote. About Andy. Come on, how can you not remember? I played it to you and Sebastian a few days ago."

The drummer sips his drink. "Oh, right. 'Course."

"Why'd you wanna meet me? Got something to say?" He's urging for an apology. Emerson knows he is. But he won't be forced into it. That's not how it works.

"Just to catch up."

"Why?"

"Because you're my brother and I wanna know what's happening in your life?"

Remington shakes his head. "Yeah, sure you do." He sighs, takes a drink of his tea, and talks again. "Fine, I'll tell you what's been happening. Me and Andy went for a picnic. We met a girl who was about to overdose. I stopped her. Her mother's a homophobic cow. I had a panic attack on the walk home. We played scrabble last night and Andy won."

"You stopped someone from overdosing? That's great."

"Is it? Or is it just depressing that a thirteen year old was thinking about it in the first place?"

Emerson doesn't know what to make of Remington. The boy has changed since they've been so distant. He seems more confident, more willing to speak his mind, to make it known when someone has done something wrong. It's odd. "True. It is depressing. Thirteen, really?"

"Mm. We called social services this morning about it."

"You did?"

Remington nods. "Well, Andy did."

"I see," Emerson mutters, almost spitefully.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

"No, why'd you say it like that? What's wrong with Andy calling them?"

Emerson shakes his head. "Nothing's wrong with it, Remington, it's just that-oh, forget it, you wouldn't understand."

"Why wouldn't I?" Remington asks, annoyed every time anyone does this when they're talking to him. Refrains from telling him something because they think he wouldn't be able to handle it. He's not a little boy.

There's a moment where no words are spoken between them, and then Emerson finally elaborates. "It's just that it seems like he's always the one doing everything, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Just-like-he makes the phone calls, he drives you to therapy, he makes you dinner, he-"

"I get anxious, Em. You know that. I can't talk to strangers. And I'm sorry he drives me to therapy, would you rather I didn't go?" He is about to go on when Emerson looks over at someone and waves them over.

Two people Remington has never seen before approach, one with a cropped hoodie on and the other with bright blue jeans. The boy raises an eyebrow at his little brother, wanting to know who the hell they are. Emerson smiles at them both. "Sit down," he encourages, "join us."

Remington looks down. Doesn't Emerson know anything? He can't talk to two strangers like it's not a big deal. It's not that easy.

"This is my brother," Emerson introduces, "Remington. Rem, this is Lucy, and this is David. They're friends of mine."

The singer, already feeling how his hands can't keep still, smiles, says, "hi, nice to meet you," as though he has no issues at all. He watches the two, Lucy and David, pull up chairs and sit down.

"We should get lunch," one of them, Lucy, suggests. "On us, don't worry."

Emerson smiles, picks up a menu. "Great! Here you are, Rem." He hands the singer a menu.

Remington takes it as though the idea of lunch with two people he's just met doesn't terrify him. "Thanks," he mumbles, and opens it. Sandwiches, soup, chips, chicken Caesar salad with croutons, burgers, lasagne. He feels sick.

David stands up to order, asks what everyone wants. Remington panics, says he'll have lasagne because he doesn't have time to think it through. Lasagne has cheese, he quickly realises, and gulps because he can't eat cheese. He won't eat cheese.

"So, Em, what're you two doing here?" Lucy asks, while David is ordering the food.

"Just catching up," he answers, "Remington was telling me about a song he wrote, weren't you?"

What the fuck? Remington thinks. Don't set me up like that! "Uh...yeah, right. The song. About-um-Andy. Yeah."

Lucy looks at him expectantly. "Who's Andy?" She asks.

"His husband," Emerson cuts in, "annoying man but Rem can't get enough of him."

Remington sips his tea. Why is Emerson acting like this, insulting Andy, making him feel awful? What the hell?

"Oh wow, so he's gay?"

"Yep."

Lucy nods. David returns. "Remington's gay," she tells him, "married to an annoying man, apparently.

"Aren't all gay men annoying?" David jokes, and Remington looks down when Emerson shares the humour and laughs with them.

"He's not annoying," the boy says.

Lucy looks at David as she talks. "Course he's not, hon," she teases, poking fun at Remington because she can see he's a fragile soul and that humours her.

Remington pulls his phone from his pocket, texts Andy to calm himself. Not going so well. Might need u to come rescue me. He plays with the phone in his lap until it buzzes.

Keep your chin up, buttercup. Let me know if u need me to come down.

"So, Remington," David begins, and the singer looks up. "How come you're wearing makeup?"

"I just like it," is Remington's answer. He doesn't get why the man even feels the need to ask. It's not important and it doesn't matter. It's his own choice.

The man, who Remington thinks is around twenty - younger than him- furrows his brows as though it's hard to grasp the concept of a man wearing any sort of makeup. "Well it looks stupid," he retorts, rude.

Remington doesn't want to be here. He feels cornered and judged and like no one understands him at all. And the thing is; Emerson should understand, should have made sure he ordered something he could eat, that he's not feeling overwhelmed. But Emerson doesn't care. "Sorry," he mumbles. Apologising is easier than confrontation.

David rolls his eyes. "He's really your brother?" He asks Emerson, and then under his breath, "seems like a nightmare."

It hurts Remington. The way they talk about him, and the way they talk to him. Like he's inferior. Like he's someone to be laughed at just because of his sensitive, anxious nature. And he just doesn't understand why they can't just be nice to him. It's not that damn hard. Silence is the best thing in a situation like this, Remington is sure of that. Be quiet and they won't have anything to poke fun at.

"He is a nightmare," Emerson says, with a laugh. "Can't leave the damn house without makeup. Won't talk to anyone. Complains all the time." His comments are laughed at by the two new-comers. They think it's funny. They think it's okay for Emerson to be insulting Remington like that. They think it doesn't bother him.

Instead of saying anything, Remington just texts his husband again. Getting worse.

What's happening?

Hard to explain.

Need me to come down?

Idk

A waitress arrives with the food. Remington looks at the way-too cheesy meal in front of him and desperately resists tearing up at the sight of it. God, what a mistake this was. he didn't ask for these strangers to barge in. He pokes at the lasagne with his fork and looks up at the others. His brother, burger in hand, apparently oblivious to what he definitely knows.

Can u come down now????

The phone is hot in his hands. He's shaking and checks the message way too fast when it buzzes.

Already on the way.

David asks why he's not eating, tells him he should because he's thinner than a matchstick. Remington rubs at his eyes because he can't stop himself from tearing up anymore. He pushes the plate back and drops his head onto the table, not moving until calming, safe hands are on his shoulders.

"Hey sweetheart, it's me," Andy whispers, waiting for Remington to lift his head up before talking again. "Come here, kitty, it's alright."

Remington pushes his chair out and stands up. He suddenly hugs Andy because the tears won't go away and the man protects him from the rude looks of the two strangers at the table.

"Shh, it's okay. I got you," he soothes, glaring at Emerson, and then at the two others.

The boy is crying now. He can't stop.

"You are unbelievable, Emerson. You wonder why he has a hard time trusting you and then you force him to eat with two strangers! Are you fucking stupid?"

Emerson looks away from Andy's harsh gaze.

"Get a fucking grip, man. He's trying his fucking best and you know that. Don't fucking put him through things like this. You know he can't handle it. You know this! Next time you wanna chat, do it without the goddamn audience, will you?" He puts a hand to the back of Remington head and softly says, "come for a walk, okay?"

Remington nods.

"You're a fucking joke," Andy spits, and, with his hands on Remington's shoulders, leaves the café.

Once they're outside, Remington finally speaks. "Sorry," he mumbles, "for making you come get me. Sorry."

Andy shakes his head. He wipes under Remington's eyes. "No need for sorry, angel. What happened?"

Remington sniffles. "Emerson was being mean and then they-they sat down and I was in a panic so I ordered lasagne and they were saying I should eat it all 'cause I'm a matchstick. Oh, and that you're annoying and all gay men are annoying and I'm stupid and I look stupid, basically."

"Ugh, what a prick. I'm sorry that happened. And you're definitely not stupid and you look beautiful."

"It made me feel-just bad."

"I know, kitten. It's okay, now. You're safe now. What'd you wanna do? Go home? Or we can go for a little walk? Whatever will make you feel better."

"Home," Remington mumbles, "home and cuddles."

Andy kisses his head and takes his hand and they walk home quietly.