User 1: Anyone else noticed how Remington hasn't been active on social media at all for like two months??

User 2: Whatever is going on is literally none of our business. He's only human. We can't expect him to always be updating us on HIS personal life.

User 3: So what if he hasn't been active? There is no rule saying he has to tell us what's going on at every point in his life. Just because he has fans doesn't mean he isn't still a person with emotions and a right to privacy. Leave him be.

User 4: He doesn't care about his fans. None of them do.

"Has it really be two months?" Emerson asks, looking up at Sebastian.

The guitarist shrugs. "Probably. He's been gone a while." He takes his bother's phone to read the comments.

Emerson sighs. "Where is he going to live when he's let out? He can't live on his own."

"He can stay with me," Sebastian suggests, "it'll help me with my drinking problems, as well." Sebastian isn't oblivious to the fact that he drinks to cope with the pain. He knows that it's a terrible thing to do, but he just can't seem to make himself stop, not without having a real reason to. And if Remington is living with him again, maybe that'll be a good enough reason to go sober.

The younger brother frowns. "I don't know if that's a good idea," he says, saying his thoughts out loud. "What if you don't stop drinking and end up scaring him?"

"Em, that won't happen," Sebastian says, "look, I know I've been a bit all over the place recently, but it's only because he's gone, and I miss him. I only started drinking when he left." He stands up and hands Emerson his phone back. "Just think about it, yeah?"

Sebastian Danzig tweeted: I hate that I am even having to say this, but seems some of you need to hear it. Remington's life is not yours! Please respect that he is a human, as are all of us, and that we all deserve privacy. Thankyou.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Remington sits with a frown as he watches Johnathon kick the wall. Remington isn't in a good mood today. "Can you fucking stop?" He asks, closing his notebook with a huff.

Johnathon turns to look at him. "It's my room, too," he fires back, kicking the wall again. "Go somewhere else."

The boy shakes his head. "You go somewhere else," he retorts. "I'm pretty sure you can kick a wall anywhere else in this place." He can feel his temper rising, and if he's honest, he would quite like to shout at someone.

"Shut up, smart arse. You really are irritating." There's a thud as he kicks the wall again, and Remington can't help but jump at the noise. Holly used to kick the wall.

Remington throws his pillow at the other man angrily. "Just fucking stop, for fucks sake! I never asked to share a fucking room with you." His voice is harsh, loud, accusing. The pillow is thrown back at him violently, and the singer catches it.

Johnathon laughs. "Me neither, idiot," he reminds the boy, "so just be quiet, yeah?" Something in his voice is strangely gentle, as though something underneath all this rudeness is kind, caring.

"If you're quiet, I'm quiet," Remington offers, "but if you're going to carry on with whatever you're doing, then we're going to have a problem."

"Alright. We're both quiet," the man agrees, and Remington nods, smiling.

"Thankyou."

The room goes quiet, and Remington is happy. He doesn't mind that there's someone else in the room, as long as he's quiet and keeping his distance. The boy picks up the notebook again and carries on with a song that he's working on. He hopes with all his heart that he will get to perform these one day. Even if it's just to his own brothers.

He's just finishing it off when Johnathon talks, this time in a kind, gentle voice. "What're you writing?"

Remington doesn't mind the question. He likes talking about his lyrics. "A song," he answers with ease.

"You're a singer?" The man sounds genuinely interested. It makes Remington smile.

He hums. "Yeah. I'm in a band."

Johnathon sits on his bed. "That's so cool, man," he admires, "what's your band called?"

"Palaye Royale," Remington replies, scribbling out a word he doesn't like. "With my brothers."

The man is nodding, impressed. "Are you a rock band?"

"Yeah. You like rock music?"

"I love it. I grew up listening to Black Veil Brides," he says, and Remington smiles to himself. "What's that face?" Johnathon asks, noticing the boy's amused look.

Remington shakes his head. "I know Andy Biersack," he explains, "we're dating."

Johnathon's mouth falls open. "You're kidding!"

"No, dude, not at all. Andy's my boyfriend." He's not in a bad mood anymore. He feels strangely at ease talking to this almost-stranger. It's like they could become friends.

The man is practically grinning in amazement now. "That's so fucking cool, and I'm so happy that he's found someone after him and Juliet got divorced."

Remington smiles. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a police officer. Well, I was, until I went insane and ended up here." He picks up a book from the table by his bed. "They gave me this and it's fucking awful," he says, "here, listen to the blurb. Mr Lou is an estate agent with a secret. But what is it, we'll never know! Or will we?"

"What the fuck is that? Was it written by a child?" Remington takes the book when it's held out for him, reading the first paragraph and laughing. "Holy shit, this is awful. I mean - Mr Lou loves his wife dearly. She's called Jennifer. Why is it so straightforward? Man, I fucking love this. I'm gonna read it and quote it for the rest of my life."

Johnathon laughs. "You're so funny, why was I so mad at you?"

"Because you're a twat," Remington says, "and in your defence, I wasn't exactly being nice to you, either." He puts the book down. "So, friends, yeah?"

"Friends."