It was the fourth time that day that Sebastian said to him, "If you weren't so late, we'd have finished this by now."

Remington was leaning over a sheet of lyrics with a pencil in his hand. They had been working on the same thing for what felt like days. Without looking at his brother, Remington replied, "There was traffic. I'm sorry I can't control where other people are going at six in the morning." He crossed out a word, wrote a synonym above it, sighed. Sebastian was going to give a snarky response, he anticipated it like the smell of food right before eating.

"All I'm saying is," the guitarist began, and a loud sigh came from across the room, where Emerson was sitting behind the drumkit, tapping the sticks together, grating away at Remington's brain. "You're the one who decided to live so far away. No one made you move in with him."

Remington had been expecting something mean, but not an attack on his husband. It was no secret; Sebastian didn't like Andy. He never had, said it was because the man was a mediocre musician at best and famous for being good looking. "Wow, okay," Remington said. "I'm sorry I love him, I guess."

"If you cared about this band, you'd live closer to me and Em. It's not rocket science. You chose to move fucking miles away for him. So is he more important to you than Palaye or are you just fucking stupid?"

Abandoning the lyrics, Remington straightened and looked at his brother. "Don't you dare tell me I don't care about this band. You know how much I've put into this. More than you, God damnit. I've fucking wrecked myself so many times for the sake of the band, Sebastian, and you fucking know it. I've worked myself into fucking sickness while you've waltzed around acting like everything just falls into place without needing to work for it. You know why you don't need to work for it? Because I do it all. Alright?"

"You do fuck all! He's the reason you're famous! All your fame - all our fame - is because of him!"

"Why the fuck can't you just say Andy's fucking name?"

"You really choose him over us, don't you?"

"You're my brothers, he's my husband. You can't compare yourself to him, Sebastian, in any way. I love you and him. Stop dragging him through shit he doesn't deserve to be dragged through. Can we please just finish this so I can go home?"

"See! All you wanna do is go home! What a joke."

Stepping past him, Remington mumbled, "The only joke around here is you, cunt." Collecting his jacket from the back of a chair, he begun for the door, slowing, surprised, when Emerson said:

"For the record, I'm with Seb on this one."

Tightening his jaw and blinking, Remington stood still for a moment before pulling the door open and marching out.

It was dark outside, a dust-like rain spattering the ground with glitter. Remington walked with his head down towards his car, noticing how neither of his brothers bothered to chase after him to apologise and insist they were just tired like he was. But he wasn't surprised. It had been going on for months, this disagreeing. It started as small debates over lyrics and chord sequences, progressed into personal attacks as the weeks went by. The bringing up of Andy was new, the use of him to upset Remington. And it was working, too. Remington was upset. He hated that his brothers had dropped to such a level that they thought it was okay to hurt him the way that they did.

The drive home was long. He had agonized over buying their house for weeks because of the distance between them and his brothers, but it was a place he had been looking at for years and he had been overjoyed when it finally was put up for sale. He had figured, when they put down an offer, that it didn't matter where he lived so long as he had his husband and a car. His brothers would surely understand. That's what he thought, what he knew. But now he wasn't so sure. Now, it was becoming clear that they wanted him to choose them before anything else.

The curtains were drawn when he pulled into the driveway and the black car that belonged to Andy was parked neatly, slick with rain. The door was unlocked and the house, as usual, smelt of the meal Andy had cooked that evening, a plate of it safe in the oven for Remington. Andy was always back before he was, his band's studio being much closer.

In the porch, Remington took off his jacket and hung it on a peg, bent down to untie his laces, blinking because he suddenly was close to tears. He fumbled with his shoes, leaving them on the rack and going through into the hall. From the living room, he could hear the television, quietly stepped towards the stairs and began to ascend them, taking care not to make a sound. At the top, he turned for the bedroom, closing the door and sitting on the edge of the bed. He held a cushion in his lap and stared at the wall. The tears came before he could stop them.

Swiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he waited impatiently for the crying to subside, wanted to get his dinner and sit with Andy, to tell him his day was good.

He didn't know how long it had been, but was startled when the door opened. He looked at Andy without speaking. The man frowned. "There you are," he said, approaching the bed. "I didn't hear you come in." Sitting beside Remington, he asked, "What're you doing up here? Aren't you hungry?"

Remington wondered why he wasn't asking what was wrong but realised quickly that he had stopped crying. "I just came to change," he lied. "My clothes were wet."

"What time did you get back?"

"What time is it?"

Andy checked his watch. "Nearly eleven."

"What?"

"You had a busy day?"

"Nearly eleven?"

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Yep. Why? How long have you been back? It's so weird I didn't hear you come in."

Remington couldn't quite believe it; he had left his brothers at seven. Returning his eyes to the wall opposite, he gave no reply, took a breath when Andy started to comb his fingers through his hair.

"Are you alright?" The elder asked softly, shifting, settling behind Remington and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Leaning into his chest, Remington nodded. "Yeah, why?" He asked

Andy rested his chin on Remington's head. "I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking too much into it. You just-you seem less...you. I'm not sure I can put it into words exactly. I'm sorry, I don't want to pry, you're of course allowed to not tell me everything." Unsure of how to articulate his observations, Andy went quiet.

Remington kept his eyes on the wall. The arguing with his brothers had altered something within him, he knew that. "No, I'm...I'm fine."

"Okay," Andy hummed. "You can always talk to me, you know?"

"I know, but I don't need to."

Unconvinced, Andy asked, "How was your day? Did you finish that song yet?"

Just the thought of the day he had lived made Remington want to cry again. "It was fine," he answered weakly.

Andy kissed the top of his head. "Fine," he echoed. "Hm. Okay."

"What?"

"How was your day really?"

Remington blinked furiously. "It was...it was fine."

Tightening his arms, Andy again kissed his head.

A moment passed before tears filled Remington's eyes.

"When did you get home?"

"Andy, I'm fine," Remington insisted, though his voice was uneasy.

"You don't have to be fine if you're not."

Another moment passed. Remington thought about what his brothers had said to him over the months. He felt like a bullied kid. He brought his hand to his face and held it over his mouth like he was trying to push his sadness back inside, to swallow it. Instead, he seemed to puke it out, for just seconds later, he sobbed.

Andy didn't say anything more, just held his husband while he cried.

Minutes later, Remington turned and wrapped his arms around Andy's shoulders, pushing him down onto his back and lying half on top of him. He let his face rest in the crook of Andy's neck and mumbled, "I'd choose you."

"Hmm?" Andy was stroking his hair with one hand, the other on the small of his back.

"If they asked, I'd choose you."

"If who asked?"

"My brothers."

"Huh? Your brothers want you to choose between me and them?"

Remington sniffled. "No. Maybe. I don't know."

"What've they been saying?"

"I don't know. That I shouldn't be living here. Too far away from them. That you're not a good musician. That I don't care about Palaye. I don't know."

"Since when?"

"I don't know." A sigh. "A while. Couple months. But it's-but it's fine."

"No, love. It's not fine. They shouldn't say that to you. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I don't...I don't want to hurt you. Because they-they don't like you. I don't know why. But I didn't-I don't wanna make you sad."

"Make me sad? Darling, come on. Don't do that. Don't neglect your own needs for me. They're your brothers, I can't imagine how much it must hurt to listen to them say things like that to you."

"But..." Remington lifted his head and looked at Andy. "But I don't wanna make you sad," he whispered, fresh tears leaking from his eyes.

Andy wiped them away. "Oh, baby boy, no. This is something you need to talk about. Otherwise it'll eat you up inside, and I love you too much to let that happen. Shh, it's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry they're being so mean to you. Please don't keep it from me in fear of upsetting me. Of course I want them to like me, but the fact they don't doesn't change anything, okay? Shh, baby. You're still my husband, I'm still your husband. Whether your brothers like me or not doesn't change that. It must be horrible to listen to them be so mean and I truly wish I could make them stop for you, but baby, please don't restrain from talking to me about these things. I don't want you to be sad on your own."

"But now you're sad, too."

"I'm sad because you're sad."

"I don't want you to be sad," pouted Remington.

Andy smiled gently up at him. "Let me heat up your food. You must be hungry."

"Okay," the younger mumbled, kissing Andy hard on the mouth before moving off him and sitting up. "Thanks." He yawned and shook his head, stood, headed for the door, slowing when Andy said:

"And for the record, I'd choose you, too."