Trigger warning.

The door is opened and Remington steps into his brother's house. He's told Emerson and Sebastian that he has something to tell them, and they're all meeting at Sebastian's place. It's midday, and Remington sits beside Emerson on the couch. "So what did you want to tell us?" The guitarist asks. He can't help but to notice how skinny his little brother has gotten again. He seems to be drowning in his clothes.

Remington sighs. "I've been diagnosed," he mumbles, "with-um-with anorexia." It's so difficult to say the word, to admit that there is a problem.

"Fuck, when?" Sebastian asks, not really sure how to handle the news. In a way it's a relief that there's a reason for Remington being so underweight. Surely him being diagnosed is better than him never knowing why he has issues with eating.

The boy can hear the worry in his brother's voice and it makes him feel bad. "Yesterday."

"And you've told Andy, too, yeah?" It's important to Sebastian that he is sure that Remington is living with someone who is able to help and keep him safe, and while he doesn't doubt Andy, he needs to ask anyway. Sebastian is so impressed with how well Andy handles Remington, how he doesn't snap and shout at him when he lies about something serious, or refuses to eat or go outside. He knows that if Andy were to ever shout at Remington or make him feel bad for his disorders then Remington would never trust him again. It's beautiful how much the two love each other, and how Andy can make him feel better just by being there.

Remington nods. "Told him last night," he says, "he said he'll help me."

"We're all going to help you," Emerson jumps in, "I know you don't want to hear this but I need to ask. Have you eaten today?" He's right, Remington doesn't want to hear it, but it is nice that people care enough to ask.

A new habit of Remington seems to be that of twisting his wedding ring round on his finger. It reminds him of Andy. "Yes. It made me feel sick but I ate anyway." Emerson and Sebastian know he isn't lying. Sometimes it's obvious when he's not telling the truth, but they know that this is the truth, and they're proud of him. "I don't want to talk about it, I just needed to tell you, in case it gets really bad." His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Coming home early today. Wanna go shopping?

Yes! I'll meet you at home soon. With brothers atm.

No need to come home first. I'll come get you in 20, k?

Okay. I'm at Sebastian's place. See you then :)

Remington looks up from his phone when he's tapped on the shoulder, and smiles at Sebastian. "Give me a hug," the older says, and Remington does.

He stands up and wraps his arms around his brother. "I promise I'll be okay," he whispers, "I've got you and Em and Andy and Abi, and it's going to be okay." It's odd for Remington to be saying this. Normally it's everyone else telling him it'll be okay.

"I know you will. I just miss you sometimes, pumpkin, I loved having you around all the time."

"I miss you, too, Sebby. When Andy goes on tour will you stay with me so I'm not on my own?" He's been wanting to ask for a while now. He knows that being on his own will not be good and Sebastian always does such a good job of looking after him.

Sebastian hums. "You don't even have to ask. Of course I will. When's he leaving?"

Remington sighs. It makes him sad to think about. "Next week."

When Andy arrives, Remington hugs his brothers goodbye, and the lovers spend the afternoon in town, happy. Neither of them mention anything about Remington's eating disorder because there's no need to. Talking about it makes Remington uncomfortable and all that matters is that Andy knows and that he'd never let his husband destroy himself. "You'd suit this," he remarks, holding up a shirt.

"Give it, I'm gonna try it on." Andy hands him the shirt, and Remington disappears into the changing room. He closes and looks the door and takes his top off, looking at himself in the mirror and frowning. He feels so fat and he hates it. He can feel his ribs under his fingers but can't see them in the mirror, which is odd. He knows he's thin but he doesn't feel thin.

Are you near the changing room?
He texts Andy, and is relieved when the man talks through the door.

"Everything okay?"

Remington unlocks the door and Andy steps in, closing it behind him. The boy waits until it's locked before saying anything. "I think I need to be sick," he whispers, pacing the small room.

"No, you don't," Andy says calmly, "try the shirt on."

The boy looks at Andy. "Okay," he mumbles, picking it up and pulling it on.

Andy smiles at him and gestures for Remington to hug him. "You're pretty," he whispers, stroking the younger's hair.

Remington whines. "No," he protests, and giggles when Andy tickles his sides.

"Yes. You're pretty. You're beautiful."

Having Andy holding him like this does make him feel better. "I wanna dye my hair," he announces, pulling back.

Andy raises an eyebrow. "Let's do it," he says, "give me a kiss, get the shirt, and let's buy some hair dye."

Remington grabs Andy's face and kisses him, pulls away, and takes the shirt off. "It's weird," he begins, and Andy looks at him. "I don't want to be bony like this but I also don't want to be not bony like this." He's talking in a hushed voice while putting his own shirt back on, and takes Andy's hand.

They pay for the shirt, and for a pair of jeans Andy wants, and go in search of some hair dye. Remington is excited and cheered up at the idea of dying his hair, and jumps on Andy's back on the way to the shop. The man laughs and holds Remington's legs, steadying himself. "Can't you possibly walk all the way to the shop?" he teases.

"Nope," Remington responds, wrapping his arms around Andy's neck and leaning into him.

"If I drop you it's your fault."

"That's not fair!"

Andy laughs and carefully puts Remington down outside the shop. "Alright, sweetheart, what colour do you want?"

The boy steps inside, hand in Andy's, and heads for the hair-care isle. "Blonde," he answers, "will it work going from black to blonde?"

"I don't know. What's the worse that can happen?"

Remington picks up a box. "My hair turns a disgusting yellow colour and I can't go out for days?" He reads the back and shrugs. "We probably should have done some research before coming in here," he says, but isn't really bothered about that.

"Here, bleach dye. That's what will work on black hair."

The boy takes it from Andy. "Okay, this works. You're dying it for me so then it's not my fault if it looks shit."

They buy the dye and walk home holding hands, arms swinging by their sides, and sit in the bathroom reading the instructions. Andy mixes the chemicals in the plastic bowl and puts on the gloves, standing between Remington's legs while the boy sits on the counter. They chat and laugh and Andy covers his hair in bleach, being as careful as he can about not missing anywhere. "What if all your hair falls out?" He asks, teasing, and Remington hits his arm.

"Don't say that now."

"I think it's done. How long do we have to leave it in for?" Andy peels off the gloves and picks up the instructions. "45 minutes," he reads, "here, it says to put this on. Then you can move without staining the furniture." With the plastic hat, Remington pulls it over his hair. He goes downstairs with Andy and reluctantly accepts a bowl of soup, though can't make himself eat any, and just swirls the spoon around in it. Andy rubs his shoulder and kisses the top of his head and wonders what it feels like to be in Remington's head. "Can you just have one mouthful, princess?" He asks quietly, and Remington just looks at the bowl. "Just one, sweetheart, for me?"

Remington rubs his eyes and picks up the spoon. "Don't want to," he mumbles.

Andy kneels down on the floor beside him. "I know, baby boy." He takes the spoon from his husband's hand. "Just one mouthful," he repeats, wiping a tear from Remington cheek. The boy turns in his chair so he's facing Andy and watches the man lift the spoon carefully from the soup.

"Are you feeding me?"

"Yes." Andy brings the spoon up to his mouth and places a hand under his chin, making him open his mouth.

Remington swallows the soup and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tastes nice," he whispers. With the help of Andy, Remington manages to get through the whole bowl, and they cuddle up on the sofa waiting for the hair dye to be ready. When it's been 45 minutes, they shower together and wash out all the hair dye, wrapping up in towels and putting on a film to distract Remington from wanting to run off to the bathroom. Like last night, he falls asleep in Andy's arms, and is carried up to bed, Andy just happy that he ate and didn't throw up. He hopes that when he's on tour Remington doesn't fall straight back into his unhealthy habits. All he can do is hope.