Trigger warning: V brief mention of suicide, panic attack

"Alright, so, for the hotel, we have Nina, Harley, Benjamin, Lina, Antoine, Dario, Indiana, Lucelia, Martinez, Jesse, Jameson, and Olive. Have I missed anyone?" Andy looked up from the piece of paper and a hesitant hand was raised by a girl wearing pastel pink. "Ah, shit," he said. "Alright. Jasmine, isn't it?" 

The girl nodded. 

"Not to worry. I'll book a room for you in just a few minutes. I'm so sorry, I don't know how you've been missed off. Is everyone else on the list?" He waited for them to nod. "Great. Brit will take you all to the hotel very soon. If you'd like to wait in the conference room where we had lunch, that'd be great. Jasmine, come with me, I'll get your room sorted." 

In his office, Jasmine sat on the edge of the couch and kept her eyes in her lap while Andy called the hotel, looking up when he spoke to her again. 

"So," he begun. "They're full right now. I've booked a room from tomorrow night, but for right now, the easiest solution is for you to come with me and have my spare room. Is that okay?" 

"Yeah."

"Again, I'm so sorry. Completely my fault. Just give me a few minutes to tidy up and lock everything, then we'll go. I'm sure you're tired." 

The short car journey from the office to his house was quiet. Andy knew she was nervous; she was staying in the Andrew Biersack's house. The front door was locked - he always locked it in the morning because Remington felt safer knowing no one could get in, in case it was Gregory, which it never would be, since Gregory didn't know where they lived, but Andy didn't question it. He understood. 

Jasmine followed him into the building, and he said. "The only other person here is Remington, my husband. He shouldn't be any bother, he's very quiet. Unless he's deafening the entire neighbourhood with one of his vinyls. Anyway, I ramble. There's a room just this way. I'll find some fresh sheets." He lead her through the kitchen and into a back room that had once been a home office. He'd had it converted into a bedroom after his first suicide attempt in a bid to lessen the amount of work he did. His logic was that he couldn't work if he didn't have a place to work, and with Abigail making him restrict his hours int he office, it worked well for a few months.

He left her in the room to retrieve sheets from the boiler cupboard, bumped into Remington when he turned around. "Hey, gorgeous. If you see a girl around, she's an intern. I fucked up the hotel booking. Only for one night, though, so it's all gucci." He kissed the side of Remington's head as he passed, descending the stairs as the younger called after him:

"Nice suit!" 

Andy threw a grin over his shoulder.

"Thanks," Jasmine said as he put the folded sheets on the end of the bed. "Sorry to impose." 

"No, it's my fault. Oh, if you're hungry, have a root through the fridge or whatever. Plates are in the cupboard by the oven." 

"Alright, thank you." 

Jokily, Andy said, "If you tweet about what the inside of my house is like, I expect only positive things." 

"He blocked me on Twitter." 

Both Andy and Jasmine turned to look at Remington, who was stood in the doorway in a long blue hoodie and sucking on a pink ice pop. Earlier in the day, he'd gone to the shop especially to buy a box of them, making it the first spend on the debit card Andy had given him at the beginning of their marriage. 

"I kept ironically quoting Twilight, but I don't think it's ironic anymore." 

"It was never ironic," Andy said, then, "You got ice pops and didn't offer me one? What is this, hell?" 

"No, I brought you one." Remington held up two. "Well, one for each of you, actually. If you want."

After a moment's hesitation, Jasmine took a blue on, and Andy, smiling, accepted the yellow one as he spoke again. "Alright, we'll leave you alone now. I think you've had enough of me making no sense for one day. Remington, stop deepthroating that." 

Remington gagged in surprise and Jasmine couldn't help but laugh. Andy shook his head, gently pushed Remington over the threshold so he could shut the door, and took his ice pop from his mouth to kiss him. Pulling away, Remington said, "You're in a good mood." 

"Well, my husband made my suit one hundred times better, my interns are all complete fucking sweethearts, and I haven't had a panic attack today. Anyone would be in a good mood." They went into the kitchen together and Andy poured glasses of the usual non-alcoholic wine, passed a glass to Remington, and continued into the living room. "So," he begun, picking up the television remote. "How was your day? You went shopping, I assume?" 

"Only for ice pops. Oh, and this." He gestured to his face. "Eyeliner." 

"Ah, yes. I thought you were wearing makeup. Suits you. Mm, shit, that's cold." 

"It is an ice pop." 

Andy hummed, smiled, selected a tv show without paying much attention. 

"Remember when I was scared of you?" 

"Mhm." 

"And now I sleep in your bed." 

"Don't say the next thing you're gonna say." 

"And I saw you naked." 

"There it is." 

Remington sucked on the ice pop, leant into Andy's side, and focussed on the television screen. It was a re-airing of an episode of a comedy he'd seen a thousand times, but when one of the jokes made Andy laugh, he couldn't help but join in. Everything about Andy was infectious. Like the songs Remington listened to on repeat, the familiarity of their harmonies and melodies comforting him each time.