Trigger warnings: Death, depression, suicide 

SAD ONE I actually started crying writing this :)

Andy isn't answering the phone and that's not like him at all. 

It's been a long night for Remington. He'd gone into the studio at just after midday and is still there at two in the morning, arguing with his brothers over which version of a harmony should be used for the chorus of a song. He called his husband at midnight, wanting to let him know he'll be a couple more hours, and sent a text when the man didn't pick up. He assumes Andy has just gone to bed early, though that's odd in itself. Andy likes to wait up for Remington, to ask him how his day was, before they go to sleep.

Remington is fighting sleep, blinking repeatedly as he tries to pay attention to what Sebastian is rambling on about. Something to do with distortion, but the singer isn't exactly sure. He could pass out if he let his eyes close for more than a few seconds. 

"Maybe we should call it a night," Emerson speaks up, cutting the older off mid-sentence. "As much as I love hearing about this, Rem's falling asleep."

"No I'm not," Remington mumbles, let down by a yawn. 

"Yeah, okay," agrees Sebastian. "We'll finish this tomorrow. Rem, you want me to drive you back to your place?" 

"What? No, I can drive myself." 

Sebastian hums, though unconvinced. "You'll fucking die if you do that in this state, buddy. Come on, you can get your car in the morning or something." 

Remington begins protesting but gives in and mumbles a thank you, rubbing his eyes and standing from the couch. He picks up his coat and collects his phone from the side, yawning. "Fuckin' exhausted," he says, mostly to himself, and follows his big brother out of the room, Emerson in tow. 

Holding the door open, Sebastian says to Emerson, "Drive safe, Em. We'll see you tomorrow." 

"Yeah, tuck him in or something." 

Remington gives him the finger. 

"I'm sure Andy will do that," Sebastian calls after him as they're walking out to the cars. "Come on, Rem, don't fall asleep yet." 

"Shut up." 

"Never." He smiles, unlocks the car, and they both get in. "Why're you so tired, anyway? Up late last night?" 

"Shut up." 

"It was a real question." 

"Yeah, sure." Remington leans his arm on the door and his head in his hand. He closes his eyes and Sebastian drives quietly, only speaking once he's stopped outside the house. 

He prods Remington's shoulder until he wakes, then opening his door and getting out. "Come on, buddy," he says. 

Remington drags himself from the car to the front door, opening it and almost falling through the threshold. He catches himself on the door frame and rubs his eyes. "Thanks, Seb," he mumbles. "I'm fine now." 

"Sleep well," the elder says, ruffles his hair, and turns to leave. 

"Yeah, you too," slurs the singer before closing the door and beginning for the stairs. He makes it half-way up before resorting to crawling the rest of the way, pushing open the bedroom door and reaching the bed with another yawn. "Andy," he whispers, patting the duvet to locate his husband. "Andy?" Remington frowns, realises the man isn't in the bed at all. "Andy?" He calls, taking his shoes off and leaving them to look for Andy. He sleepily leaves the bedroom, turning on the bathroom light, squinting, and once his eyes have adjusted and he's seeing more than just white, he finds himself frozen in place. 

Before him, Andy sits, slouched against the bathtub, arms limp, one hand in his lap, the other on the gray tiled floor, and beside that hand, an empty container of paracetamol lies. Un-moving, like a scene in a dolls house. Andy is half-dressed, as though he was preparing for a shower, his shirt strewn across the floor by the door, his belt unbuckled but not removed. Like he physically couldn't continue with what he was doing. The medicine cabinet is still open and there are three or four other containers on the ground that must have been knocked off the shelf in his obvious flurry to find the right ones. One of the containers has cracked open with the fall. 

For a good minute, Remington can't move, can't make sense of the situation despite its clarity. He stares at the man, at the foam collected on his chin, the marble-like, open eyes, blue still bright, as though he's looking at something, as though he can still see the world. He stares for longer than he dares to think about, but he doesn't cry, doesn't shed even half a tear. He just stares. 

The cold tap is still trickling down the plug and the lid of the pill bottle is in the sink, and beside the sink is Andy's phone, splashed with water. Remington is scared to move, scared that if he does, this will become more than just the nightmare he really hopes it is, but he steps closer and picks up the phone. His hands are shaking as he unlocks it. It's the same as it always is. The home screen is a photo of the two of them and Remington burns his eyes into the smile on Andy's face. He realises he'll never see that smile in person ever again, and he covers his mouth, closes his eyes tight. 

He doesn't know why he calls Sebastian and not the hospital, but he holds the phone to his ear and when the guitarist answers, he can't speak. "Hey, Andy," Sebastian answers. "What's up? Is Rem okay? I know he was really tired. Andy? Are you there?" 

Hearing him say the man's name is more upsetting than Remington could have anticipated. He shakes his head, hand still covering his mouth. He stays quiet as he turns and looks back at the scene by the bathtub. 

"Andy?" Sebastian asks. 

Remington lowers himself to the ground. He can't pull his gaze from his husband despite the horror of it. 

"Okay, I'm gonna assume this was an accidental call and hang up." 

"Seb..." 

"Remington? Rem, what's going on?" 

"Seb...can you...can you come over?" 

"Why? Is everything okay?" 

"Please, Sebastian." 

"Okay, I'll be there soon." 

Remington hangs up. He drops the phone into his lap and leans forwards, takes Andy's cold hand from the ground, wraps it in his as though to warm it. His eyes are filling now, and he moves closer to Andy, brings his hand into his chest and holds it over his heart. Then he closes his eyes and lets tears slip free. "You could have called," he whispers. "You could have called me. Why didn't you call me?" He heaves a breath and holds tight to Andy's hand, hating how limp it feels, how Andy doesn't hold his hand in return, and, keeling over, he begins sobbing into the man's shoulder. His head pounds and his heart burns a hole through his chest, and he lets go of Andy's hand to wrap his arms around the man's still shoulders, to hug him, to beg him to come back to life. But he knows that won't happen, so he cries hard and relentless. Cries becoming yells of anger. Anger at himself, for not noticing the warning signs. Anger at the world for stealing his husband away so cruelly. Anger at everything. 

"Oh my god," comes a voice from the doorway, and Sebastian rushes to the scene. He pulls his brother from Andy and into his arms, putting a hand to the back of his head to keep him from looking back at the man. He rocks soothingly, whispers that he's sorry, that he's so fucking sorry . Rocks and whispers and runs fingers through his hair until he's asleep because he's so exhausted that even with all his strength, staying awake is too much effort.  

Much like Andy, he supposes.

Staying awake was too much effort.