I'm ready to be killed.
Trigger warning.

"So," Remington begins, "long time no see?" It's not supposed to sound rude, but he isn't really sure how else to talk to his brother after what happened.

The drummer can't look at Remington. "Yeah..." he says slowly, awkward.

Remington swirls his finger round the top of the white mug, waiting for Emerson to talk.

"You look better," is the first thing Emerson says, even though he doesn't believe his own words. He doesn't think Remington ever will get better.

"Will you just fucking tell me why you did it?"

"Remington-"

"No! Don't Remington me. You didn't visit once and you joined another band! You're my brother, Emerson! That should mean that you give a fuck about me!"

Emerson sighs. "Sorry," he says flatly, "but it's not my fault."

The singer laughs sarcastically. "Oh no? It's not? So you just accidentally fell onto a drum kit and knew exactly what to play? Sure, sure. Nice one." He picks up the mug in his hands. "Why can't you just accept that you're wrong?"

"I'm not wrong."

Remington frowns, puts the drink down again. "No, of course not. Because I'm always the one who's wrong, right?"

"For God's sake, would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Nevermind."

The boy looks down. "I told you what it's like in my head, Em. I explained so much. Why are you still so mean to me? What did I do?" He wipes his eyes. "You know what, it doesn't matter. I can't keep doing this." Remington stands up. "Have a good day," he says sadly, and walks away. When he gets home he finds Andy in the kitchen stirring a pan of what he assumes is pasta sauce, and wraps his arms around the man's torso. "Andy," he whines.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well?" The man asks, rubbing Remington's arm with his free hand.

"Emerson's a dick," Remington complains, pressing his head against Andy's shoulder.

Andy hums and turns off the pan, leaving the wooden spoon leaning against the side. "Did you actually talk to him, sweetie?"

"I tried but he's a dick."

The older hums again. "I see." He turns around and holds Remington's face in his hands sympathetically. "You're cute when you're annoyed."

"I'll bite you again," Remington warns, pouting, and scrunches up his face when Andy pokes his nose. "Stop."

"You know you can't avoid them forever, sweetheart."

The boy groans, disatisfied. "I'm not avoiding them, I'm just...staying away from them because they're dicks." When Andy chuckles he grins. "We should go camping again," he says, "today."

"Are you sure? Last time we went-"

"Yeah, but that's not gonna happen again. Let me remind you that I murdered him."

Andy shakes his head. "The only thing you murder is my heart everytime you say something bad about yourself. You put makeup on today." He touches Remington's lips, which are tinted with a pink colour. "Is that the lip gloss I got you?"

Nodding subtly, Remington hums.

"It looks nice," the older compliments, one hand on Remington's cheek, and kisses the singer.

"So...camping?"

Andy smiles. "Yeah, camping. That tastes nice."

The boy laughs. "You're weird. I love you."

"You're weird, too," Andy says, "I'll get the tent."

"You're meant to say 'I love you too', dumbass."

"I love you too, dumbass."

Remington frowns, but it soon breaks into a grin. "Go fuck yourself!" He calls after his husband.

Once Andy comes back down with the tent, he boils some pasta and heats up the sauce he made, spooning some into a bowl for Remington before serving himself. He knows the boy finds it overwhelming to serve himself, and that he wouldn't give himself nearly enough.

Remington eyes the bowl before picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of pasta. "Dinner time sucks," he whines.

Sitting next to him, Andy rubs his shoulder. "I know."

"It's like torture but I need it to survive, which is stupid. Who decided you have to eat? I just wanna have a chat with them." He sighs before reluctantly putting the pasta in his mouth.

"Good boy."

"I wish I hated you saying that but I don't."

After dinner, which Remington eats almost angrily, he goes upstairs to get the tooth brushes from the bathroom, stopping when he looks at the toilet. He can't. But it would feel so good. Remington shakes his head, picking up the brushes and turning to leave the room.

He turns back around after a moment, puts the brushes in the sink, turns the taps on, and kneels infront of the toilet.

From the bedroom where he's folding a blanket into a bag, Andy heard the taps, dropping what he's doing and almost running across the hall. He knows better than to assume Remington is just washing his face. "Oh no you don't," he says, pulling the boy into him and kissing his head. "None of that. You can fight it."

Remington actually feels somewhat relieved that Andy stopped him. "Sorry," he mumbles, pressing his face into his lover's shoulder.

"None of that, either."

"Can't I just do it once? Please?"

Andy shakes his head. "No, absolutely not. Are we having a shaky moment, sweetie, do you need some looking after?"

"Fuck you, yes, and yes." The words are soft.

"Alright, come here," Andy says, pulling Remington's legs around his waist and picking the boy up.

"Just once?" Remington asks again.

"Mm, sorry princess, but I'm not gonna let that happen."

At the answer, Remington whines, not happy at all with how his brain throws it a him like this. Andy sits him on the bed and he falls onto his back. "Hug please."

"It would be a pleasure, my darling."

Remington waits for Andy to lie down beside him, shuffling up into the man and breathing in the warm safety. "Don't let go until it's gone," he mumbles into Andy, quiet, hoping he'll be free of the temptations soon.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart, you're safe with me." His hand rubs gentle circles into Remington's shoulder, and he frowns, thinks about how stress wasn't the only reason for him crying the other day. He wishes he could tell Remington. It's not like the boy wouldn't understand. It's just that Andy feels like it's his duty to look after Remington, like he shouldn't say if something is going on with him.

"I know." Remington moves, sighs, closes his eyes. He can't see Andy's face, his sudden sad expression.

Andy knows he shouldn't have done it. He just wanted to know what it felt like. Too bad these things can never be done just once. Too bad Remington didn't look at him long enough to see it.

Everyone thinks he's okay.

Everyone's wrong.