Remington sulks into the living room after returning from the disastrous group therapy. He flops down onto the couch and groans into the arm rest.

"What's the matter, love?" Asks Andy from the doorway, open laptop in his hands. He clicks on something and closes it. "Rem?" He asks again, putting the laptop down on the coffee table.

The boy groans.

Andy kneels on the floor by Remington and puts a hand between his shoulder blades. "Come, now, tell daddy what the matter is."

Remington huffs in response.

"I'll tickle you."

"Piss off," the boy mumbles.

"How was therapy?"

"Wonderful."

Andy hums knowingly. "What happened?" He asks, rubbing Remington's shoulders.

"Nothing worth repeating," says Remington in a quiet, fed up voice. The sort that suggests tiredness and boredom all at once. Then he adds, "people are the worst."

"I know, kitty, people are awful. What happened, huh?" Andy begins gently massaging the back of his neck and the curves of his shoulders gently. Remington hums but says nothing. "I saw Sebastian today," Andy says, "he was hoping to catch you for a day sometime soon. I said you'd call him."

"'kay."

"And there's a new series of Schitt's Creek on Netflix."

"Yay," Remington mumbles, "my favourite."

Andy smiles. "You're very tense, I can feel it."

"Bad day." He sighs into the cushion. "Can you do it under my clothes?"

Complying, Andy slips his hands under Remington's hoodie and continues the soothing massage, saying, "you've got such smooth skin."

"Shut up," Remington whines. "You'll never guess who was at therapy."

"Who? Satan?"

"Would'a preferred that."

"Oh no. Who was it?"

"Fucking Emerson," he says with a huff, beginning to relax at the comforting touch of Andy's careful hands. "But I don't wanna talk about it now. I just want a while where I don't gotta talk about any of it."

"Of course, baby boy, we don't have to talk about it right now." He moves a hand down and tickles his husband's ribs, chuckling when he squirms. "Cutie pie," he then whispers, "just like a little kitten."

Remington strains to look at him. "You're telling me that's why you call me kitty?"

Andy raises an eyebrow. "Duh."

"Oh. I thought it was because I did a good cat impression."

The man laughs. "Hate to break it to you, but your cat impression... Not that good."

"It so is. Listen. Look, listen." He makes a high-pitched, vaguely recognisable meow sound, and Andy laughs again.

"It is because I love you that I must tell you, it isn't good. Sorry, kitty. It's a no from me."

Remington giggles.

"Let me take you away for a bit."

"Huh?"

"Have you ever been skiing?"

"Skiing? No, never."

Andy leans down and kisses the back of his neck. "I'm gonna take you skiing. I think you'll like it," he decides, taking his hands away when Remington sits up.

"I don't know how to ski," Remington says, taking his hoodie off and returning to his previous position. "Continue."

The man chuckles. "So polite," he jokes, "I'll book somewhere for two weeks, okay? It'll be ski season soon." He resumes the massage. "How's Abigail today?"

"She's good."

"Good."

Remington hums.

"How's kitty cat today?"

"He's not in a good mood," says the younger with a notable pout. "He's awfully pissed off."

"Sucks to be him," Andy teases, "tell him I'm good at running hot baths and giving naked hugs." He moves a hand from his husband's shoulder and to the back of his head.

The gentle scalp massage makes Remington hum quietly. "Naked hugs?" He queries.

"Oh, y'know, the ones when you've just had a shower and you come to bed without putting anything on. Those ones."

"I love those ones," mumbles the singer.

"I know you do. You practically purr."

"Maybe that's just my fantastic cat impression."

Andy chuckles. "Maybe," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of Remington's neck. "Maybe not."

Remington closes his eyes. "Imagine if you just, like, strangled me right now."

"I don't wanna imagine that. That's a horrible thing to imagine. Why on earth would I strangle you?"

"No, I'm saying...imagine if you did."

"Nope. I refuse to imagine that."

"Why?"

"Why're you imagining it? Are you having bad thoughts?"

He yawns. "I'm having thoughts of hiring someone to murder Emerson, does that count as bad?"

"No need to hire anyone, I'll do it for free. But seriously, why're you thinking about being strangled? And by me?"

"Because," Remington begins, "I had a dream about it."

"About me strangling you?"

"No. Sort of. It was weird."

Andy hums. "Do go on," he encourages.

"Okay, so...basically you were this, like, huge monster God thing, right. And I was, like, a servant, or, like, a butler. Bear in mind you were way bigger than me. And you demanded I get you this weird herb tea thing that I'm pretty sure doesn't even exist, and I got the wrong one, so you, like, picked me up and effectively hung me but with your hand." He shrugs. "Then I woke up and forgot it was a dream and, like, leaped out of bed because I thought I'd look at you and you'd be the monster."

Andy seems both disturbed and concerned at the explanation. He pauses what his hands are doing. "That sounds nasty," he says, "you must be subconsciously scared of me for your brain to make that up."

"I dunno. It's just a thing that happens. I'm gonna blame Holly." Now, he sits up. "Can we have naked hugs?"

"Mm, definitely. Let's watch Schitt's Creek in bed." Andy stands up and holds his arms out for Remington to take, pulling him off the couch and into his chest. "What did Emerson do today?"

Remington looks at him, unimpressed.

"Alright, alright. Sorry. Come on."

The boy smiles. "Love you."

"I know."

"Hey!"

"Love me too?"

Remington begins out of the room. "Dick," he calls, adding, "I wanna see it!"

Andy laughs as he follows the younger up the stairs. "Oh so predictable, little sweetie."

"Say you love me."

"You love me."

"Andy."

"What?"

Remington huffs.

"I love you, pretty little darling."

"You make me sound like a new born baby," Remington says, "that, I am not."

"No, but you are a pretty little darling."

Sitting on the bed, the younger undoes his belt and pulls it from the loops on his jeans. "If you say so," he mumbles with a smile, dropping the belt on the floor. "I'm not putting on a strip tease, stop staring like a perv."

"What's wrong with watching you strip?"

"It's weird."

"Why?"

"Why isn't it?"

"Because you're beautiful and your body should be celebrated."

"Celebrated? Well now I sound like a porn star. You're still staring," Remington says, his jeans joining the belt on the floor. "And you're still dressed."

"And you're awfully needy, aren't ya'?"

"Only for you. Still staring."

"Yes, I am. Got a problem with it?"

"Only that you're still dressed and I can't stare at you without clothes on. That's not very fair, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mm, I would agree, only I'm having an awful good time staring at you."

Remington pouts up at Andy and his face breaks into a grin when the man begins stripping.

"Doesn't take much to please you, does it?" The older teases.

"Cuddles please." He lifts the covers and slides under them, and is soon joined with his husband, who kisses his mouth messily.