Trigger warning: Mentions of depression, self-harm, panic attack, v brief mention of sexual assault 

Remington's brothers and their girlfriends travelled from London in a taxi paid for by Andy to begin their search for new homes. It was just after six in the evening when they arrived, and the taxi pulled up outside Andy's house almost at the exact same time that Andy got out of his car. 

Sebastian was the first opening the door, though said nothing to Andy, and patiently, the elder held the front door open for them. Remington was stood beside him, having heard the cars from upstairs, and could see the uneasiness in Andy's expression. He whispered, "You want me to sleep in my bed tonight?" 

Andy looked briefly at him. "Why? Because I supposedly hate you for inviting them? No, course not. Your nightly cuddles are what I look forward to most." He was keeping his voice low as the four outside collected their bags from the back of the car. 

Remington hummed, placed a kiss to his cheek, and left his side to greet his brothers, both of them putting their bags down to hug him. Into his hair, Sebastian said, "I'm willing to give him a chance," and Remington could have squealed with a mixture of relief and excitement. Maybe his brothers would finally see how wonderful his husband was. 

"I'm not," Emerson said, however, during their embrace. "Willing to give him a chance, I mean. He's bad news and I don't like him. Never will like him." 

"Okay, okay," Remington mumbled. "I get it." 

"Piece of good-for-nothing shit." 

"Emerson, I love you, shut up." Remington looked over his brother's shoulder at Andy, still stood against the open door. He offered a smile which Andy returned, but Remington knew it was fabricated. 

Andy made them all hot drinks and said very little, looking up from his mug when his name was spoken. Not by Remington, but by Larisa. "Can I just say," she begun. "Your suit is gorgeous." 

It wasn't what he was expecting and he smiled. "Oh, thank you. Remington had the idea for the black lace." 

"It looks very Remington," Sebastian said. "Did he tell you about his designs he drew when he was a teenager for 'the perfect onesie'?" 

"Shut up," Remington huffed. "I was fifteen." 

"The perfect onesie? What's that consist of?" 

Remington was sitting beside Andy. He shook his head. "It was literally a normal onesie, just with an attachable fluffy blanket that was basically a shitty cape." 

"I can see the appeal to that," Andy said. "But then, I have a soft spots for superheroes, and they usually have capes." 

"Like you'd know anything about being a hero," Emerson muttered. 

Shy jabbed him gently in the shoulder to make him shut up, and Larisa spoke again, asked, "So you're a fashion designer." 

"That's right." 

"I love your company. The inclusiveness, the designs, the affordable prices. Can't fault it." 

"Oh, wow, thank you."

"I mean, I've known of the brand for years, learnt about it just after that, uh, news article. You know the one."

Andy did, in fact, know the one. 

"Anyway, I looked into your website and social medias and everything and basically I've been a fangirl ever since. Go Andrew Biersack, living legend." She shook her head, laughed to herself. "Seriously, though, it's awesome to meet you. From what I've see and read about you, you seem like the ideal human." 

"He is the ideal human," Remington confirmed. 

Under his breath, Emerson muttered, "Yeah, right," and again, Shy jabbed him. 

"I honestly was so excited when Sebastian told me through gritted teeth and clenched fists that his little brother's husband was Andrew Biersack. The Andrew Biersack. Honestly, I had a complete fangirl moment." 

"Truly never seen her like that," Sebastian joked, though there was truth in his words, Andy could tell. "She was the one to convince me to give you a chance, actually. Showed me all these interviews and was like, 'look at this man and his perfect perfect perfect way with words and beliefs'." 

"You're complimenting a rapist," Emerson said now, and loudly. 

This, Remington considered too far. He could just about understand, from Emerson's point of view, Andy being called a piece of shit, could just about tolerate any other insult, but calling him a rapist was his limit. No one deserved that title, no matter what someone's opinion might have been on them, if they had not committed such an awful act as that. The fact that Andy didn't protest made it worse, and angrily, Remington demanded Emerson leave. 

Of course, Emerson argued, and Remington argued back, and while this was going on, their voices growing increasingly violent, Andy stood with plans of escaping to his room most likely to unwillingly but also willingly (he didn't understand it) bite himself again. But Remington grabbed his hand and pulled him back onto the couch, said, "I'm not letting you feel pushed out of your own living room when he's the one being a complete cunt. Emerson, go." 

Andy, while he appreciated the gesture, wanted to get out of there before he had a panic attack, so he leant into Remington and whispered, "I love you so much for that, but I need quiet." 

Ignoring Emerson's shouting, Remington stood up with Andy, walked closely behind him out of the room and closed the door. "I'm sorry," he said. He wanted to cry at how defeated Andy looked. "What he said, it's fucked up. I'm sorry." 

"Not your fault." Andy had the urge to pace but he stayed where he was. "Don't have me keeping you from them. They're your brothers." 

"Yes," Remington said, taking Andy's hands. "And they're not gonna hurt themselves if I'm not with them right now. No, shh. It's okay. You don't need to give an explanation or whatever you're about to say for why you do it. You don't need to tell me anything. But I'm gonna let them deal with that argument in there on their own. They're grown adults. At least, most of them are. Not so sure about Emerson." 

"They're your brothers," Andy repeated weakly.

"Yeah, and? You're my husband. And I love you. And I know you're hurting right now and if I were to leave you alone, I'd hate myself for it. So what's your favourite movie and we'll watch it?" 

"You hate Batman." 

"Need I repeat the part where I love you?" 

Andy wiped the back of his wrist across his damening eyes and shook his head. "You're too good," he mumbled. 

"Come on. Batman won't watch himself." 

"He will if he has a mirror." 

Remington pushed Andy gently towards the stairs, following him up and into his bedroom. They settled on the bed, Remington behind Andy, rubbing his shoulders in a not-quite massage, and for a while were quiet while the film was on, until Andy paused it to say, "You know you just stopped a whole panic attack from happening? I have no words for the relief I feel knowing it's gone." 

"I didn't stop it. You stopped it. Be proud of yourself. And I love that you've paused it as if you've never seen it before and might miss something important." 

"Every bit is important," Andy insisted. 

"I still think it's bollocks." 

"I might have a panic attack out of spite."

"Technically, me calling it bollocks could be a compliment, because-" 

"If you say, 'because bollocks means balls and I like balls', I will...I don't know what I'll do. Something you won't like. Like replacing your vinyls slowly with bagpipe records or something." 

Remington leaned over to take the remote and press play, continued massaging Andy's shoulders, and whispered into his ear, "Don't you like balls?" and Andy laughed, shook his head, and said that of course he did.