Trigger warning, anorexia. Very brief mentions of suicide. Pretty cute again. Drop some pretty names because I'm adding some more characters.

In the kitchen, Remington sits on the counter with a mug of tea, watching Andy make lunch, swinging his legs. "Y'know," he begins, "I had an idea."

Andy glances at him. "Oh yeah?"

"So, since the hospital wouldn't keep me 'cause of my gender, I thought...what if I started a charity for men with eating disorders? To help everyone who has been turned away like me. And everyone who is afraid to reach out for help because they're not girls. Just anyone who needs it."

The man smiles. "Do it," he says, "no question about it. Do it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. It's unfair that they treat men differently just because it's supposedly a girls disorder, so do it. Make the charity. Be the change the world needs." He chops a carrot as he speaks.

"I don't even know how to start a charity."

"Google? Don't not do it just 'cause of that. I'll help. I'm sure there are people we can talk to about it, get the charity up and running. With our fame already, it'd probably be pretty popular from the launch. And if it's not, then at least we tried."

Remington yawns. "Okay. I have a question. Who is Kassandra and why does she have your number?"

Andy puts the knife down. "Oh, Kassandra. She's in a local band from round here. They were recording in the studio while I was there. She bumped into me while she was looking for the loo. We got talking. Her band is desperately looking for someone to open for on tour."

The boy scrolls through the messages on Andy's phone, intrigued. "When'd you meet her?"

"About a month ago. Why? Jealous?"

"Absolutely not. After that song you played for me the other day, I could not be more secure in our marriage. Have you heard her music? Are they any good?"

"Really good."

Remington hums. "Can I meet her?"

"'course you can, angel. Steal her number if you like." He puts the chopped vegetables into a pan. "She'd like your band, I reckon."

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Remington saves her number as a contact.

"Number?"

"Twenty one. What do I say to her?"

"I dunno. 'Hi, it's Andy's husband. You sound cool'?"

Remington yawns again. "What if she, like, fancies you?"

"She doesn't."

"How'd you know?"

Andy chuckles. "She's got a girlfriend."

"I love her now."

"Right?"

'Hi,' Remington types, 'I'm not a stalker, I promise. Andy gave me your number. I'm his husband. You seem pretty cool.'

"What're you sending?" Andy asks, just happy to see him socialising after two months of talking to anyone but his close family.

Remington reads out the message before pressing send, putting his phone down and awaiting a reply. "Will you be mad if I-"

"No."

"I haven't finished."

"Me being mad at you is never gonna happen so there's no point, sweetheart."

"Okay, I'll say it differently. Would it be inconvenient if I were to say that I'm not hungry?"

Andy takes the empty mug from him. "'course not. But you know you still gotta have some lunch." He rinses the mug.

"Sucks. Oh, she replied!"

"What'd she say?"

"'Oh, hi there haha, Andy mentioned a husband.' Well what the fuck am I s'posed to say to that? God, I hate socialising."

The older just laughs.

"Remember when we were texting before we were properly together? And I was so oblivious to your flirting?"

"Oh, yes, I couldn't forget. You were such a sweet little thing." He turns the heat down on the stove and picks Remington up, hands supporting his thighs. "So how come it's past midday and you're still wearing the shirt you wore to bed?"

"It's yours."

"I know."

Remington giggles. "No, that's why. 'cause it's yours. And also 'cause I didn't sleep that well so I couldn't be bothered getting dressed."

"Bad dream?"

"No, just loud thoughts. The usual. Some nights it's just worse. You always smell so good."

"And you, my darling, smell like you need a shower."

Remington whines. "Showers are wet."

"That's kind of the whole point," Andy whispers, sitting the boy on the couch.

"I will later. Maybe. I still need to reply to Kassandra." He pulls Andy down. "It's cuddle time."

"When isn't it?" The man teases, pulling Remington into his lap. "Don't fall asleep, sweetie."

"But you're so warm."

"I'll only have to wake you in fifteen minutes for lunch."

"Well then just don't."

Andy strokes his hair. "Mm, I don't think so."

Remington smiles. "'kay, well I'll just rest my eyes, then," he mumbles, yawning again, and presses his forehead to his lover's shoulder.

"You're gonna hate me when I wake you."

"Shh."

Just as he said, Andy has to wake his husband to finish making lunch. He lifts the boy's head up and kisses his face until he blinks his eyes open, smiling gently. "Come on, kitty, lunch."

Remington rubs his eyes. "'kay, fine."

"Good boy."

"You ever just wanna sleep forever?" The younger asks, followed by a yawn as Andy ruffles his hair.

"Mhm."

Remington stands up and stretches before half-heartedly going into the kitchen, where he pulls out a chair and sits down. "I wish I could just sleep a whole night," he says, "I haven't for years."

"I know, sweetie. It's not fair. D'you want some orange juice?"

Nodding, the boy watches his husband pour a glass and finish off the soup by blending it all so it's smooth. "Thanks," he mumbles.

Andy spoons two ladles of soup into a blue bowl, spreads butter onto a piece of toast, and puts it down in front of Remington. "Don't ask what's in it," he says, "I couldn't tell you."

Remington pulls a piece of bread off, dipping it in the soup. "Your food's always nice anyway."

"Glad you think so. You still look half asleep."

"I am."

Andy joins him at the table. "I need to go back into the studio today for an hour or so. Jess is just finishing off another track. She wants to check it's what I want."

"Jess is the producer?"

"Yep."

Remington hums.

"Come with if you like. You might see Kassandra, too. I think her band is in today."

"Maybe," the younger says, "if I can stay awake." He pulls off another piece of bread. "Maybe it's the meds? Abi said they might make me sleepy."

"You've got new meds?"

"The last ones I had were messin' with me. Makin' me see things. I dunno. None seem to really do what they're supposed to. I wish they would. It's be great to not wanna die all the time." He looks across at Andy. "Or maybe I'm just broken."

"Don't say that. You're not broken. Meds don't work for everyone. That's not your fault."

"I'll come," he decides, "as long as there's a comfy chair."

Andy smiles. "There's a whole sofa and two cushions. You still need to text Kassandra back."

"Is the sofa comfy?"

"Very."

Remington, finishing the bread, picks up the spoon. "Good. Whatever is in this is very nice, by the way." The smile he gets makes his heart flutter and he smiles right back. "How're the guys doing in America?"

"Really well, annoyingly. They're working on an album. They changed the name of the band, y'know? They're called 'The Phantom Tomorrow' now. Apparently so I could have Black veil if I wanted to start another band or something."

"That's sweet."

"Mhm."

"Are you gonna start another band?"

"I don't know yet. It depends how this solo album goes. I don't wanna do anything too substantial yet, though, not while I need to be home with you."

Remington looks back at his lunch.

"And it's risky to start another one, I think. I'd be trying to re-make Black Veil and it would just be too similar to the stuff already out."

"Andy, you could release a three hour song of just you singing one word over and over and people would listen all the way through."

"Maybe I should test that."

"I dare you."

Andy chuckles. "I want you to sing in some of my songs, okay?"

"Sure," Remington agrees, and then, "only if you can buy me a new onesie."

"Isn't four enough?"

"But I don't have a pink one."

"Oh, I see. We need all the colours, do we?"

"Yep."

"Sure, I'll buy you a pink onesie."

"Thanks!"

The older looks at his own soup to avoid making Remington uncomfortable, looking up again when his hand is taken and letting the boy hold it as he slowly eats. He knows sometimes the line between not being and okay and being okay is as fragile as needing a hand to hold.