Trigger warning: VERY brief mention of suicide (I mean VERY VERY BRIEF)

Keeping true to his word, Andy took Remington into town to buy a new phone and anything else he might want. As they were walking towards the shopping centre, he said, "How about we go in a few clothes shops as well? You can show me what fashion you're into because I'm really curious." 

Remington found that strangely endearing. "Okay," he said. "Thank you." 

"We'll get lunch in town somewhere, too. I'll take you to my favourite cafe." 

"Okay." 

"Alright, this way." Andy led him through an archway and into a large, two storey shopping centre. "Where first?" He asked. 

You're letting me decided? You're letting me go where I want? Now he felt a little pathetic, because he'd never had the money to venture out into downtown shops, had always got his clothes second hand or from his brothers. "I don't mind," he said, trying to sound as casual as he could. 

"Well, there's all the usuals - Topshop, Next, Primark, HMV if you want any headphones or anything, there's an Apple store upstairs, 02 just down here - and loads more I can't remember." He looked at Remington, saw how uncertain he was, and added, "How about we go HMV? They do lots of merch and music related things." 

Remington nodded. He'd only ever been in a HMV once, and hadn't bought anything. With Andy, he was hesitant about picking anything up, was worried it might have been some sort of test. 

"Get whatever you want," Andy told him, flipping through a stack of shirts. "Vinyls, posters, headphones, shirts, whatever. Go wild."

"Thank you," Remington said. 

"I'll get you a record player, too. I have an old one at home, but it's crackly as shit."

"Really?" 

"Course." 

Remington smiled for a moment. "Okay. Thank you." 

"And stop thanking me." 

"Oh. Okay." 

"Shit, sorry," Andy said when his phone started ringing, groaning when he checked who it was. "Fucking Jon," he muttered. "What is Jon? It's my day off. Yes. You're not supposed to call me for stationary issues, for fuck's sake, that's Karina's responsibility. Yes, Jon. So go and talk to Karina about the lack of whatever the fuck and let me enjoy my day off. Alright. No, please don't. No, Jon, that's not necessary. My office is locked anyway, obviously. Yes, there's a gap in the bottom of the door, but please don't push anything under. Just give it to me tomorrow like a normal person. Yes. Hanging up now. Bye." Lowering the phone, he smiled at Remington, who was trying not to listen, but was failing. "Sorry about that. Jon's incompetent and I should fire him, but unfortunately, no one else wants his job." 

"What is your job?" Remington hesitantly asked. 

"I own a clothing brand." 

Now, Remington really didn't know what to say. It was the last thing he had expected. He thought Andy would say he was a lawyer or something. 

"I don't really focus on the actual clothing side, not anymore, at least, but the sales and marketing and stuff. I have some of my first outfits we ever made at home, I'll show you later." 

"What sort of clothes?" 

"Well, my original idea was to make conventionally feminine clothes male friendly. You know, there are so many gorgeous dresses and corsets and stuff that men just can't wear because of the measurements. Big busts, tiny waists, you know what I mean?" 

"Sure." 

"And one Sunday, when I was eighteen, I was in the woman's section of Primark looking through the dresses, because I was a weird kid and it made me happy, and I liked wearing them sometimes, and I was like, hey, none of these will properly fit me. That's not fair. And basically I started a company designing and making dresses, crop tops, skirts, everything you can think of, that are primarily made to fit men." 

Remington was momentarily in awe. Like Andy, he had found enjoyment in wearing women's clothes. His mother used to let him try on hers around the house. "Wow," he said quietly. "That's really cool." 

"Thank you. We have a shop just out of town. I'll take you some day, you can choose a few things, if you like." 

"Really?" 

"Of course. You look like you'd rock a dress." Andy picked up a shirt that was hanging nearby that had an illustration of a cat with a guitar, said. "Fuck it, I'm getting this. You want one, too?" 

"Sure. Thank you." 

"Uh uh. Stop that." 

"Oh, sorry." 

"Oh my god, there's another. Look at this one. Okay, I'm getting two of each." 

You're actually rather sweet. 

With the shirts folded over his arm, Andy headed for the music section, flipping through vinyls while Remington looked at headphones. "Get those," Andy said, glancing his way. "The ones you're almost touching. Get them. They're the best ones." 

"They're so expensive," Remington said. 

"I'm the owner of a clothing brand, you think blowing £200 on a pair of headphones for my technically-husband is gonna hurt? Let me treat you." 

Remington appreciated the 'technically-husband' comment. It was comforting to know that Andy didn't expect them to be actual husbands. It was only for the paperwork. They both knew that. "Alright," he said, smiling. "Thank you." 

"Fucking hell," Andy muttered, then laughed and shook his head. "Next time you say that, I'll take you somewhere really expensive and you'll just have to deal with it." 

Why are you so sweet? Why are you not horrible? 

"You said you like My Chemical Romance? They have most of their records. We'll get them, and a record player, which I believe is over there, and anything else you want. I think we should have come in the car. I'll get Dayna to drive it over. She should be at the house now, anyway." 

Hours later, after lunch in Andy's favourite cafe and many more 'thank yous', they drove back to the house, and in his room, Remington set up the record player and slid the vinlys onto the bookcase, as well as the new books he had gotten, and Andy came up to check it worked. "It's perfect," Remington told him. He almost couldn't contain his grin. "I've never had one before. It sounds so much better than CDs." 

"Blast that shit until the windows break," Andy said. "And those other bands you got, you'll have to let me listen some time." 

"Sure." 

"I've gotta go into work for a bit because Jon's about to fucking kill the entire company, should be back in an hour or so. If I'm not, assume I've hanged myself from the ceiling fan." 

"Don't do that," Remington said. "You'll pull the thing down." 

Andy laughed. "Damn, you're a little sassy. I like it. See you in a bit for dinner and fake wine." 

"Have fun." 

"Mm, unlikely. Oh, before I forget, I dropped a glass in the kitchen, look out for broken pieces if you go down, I don't think I cleaned it very well." Then, turning to walk away, "Don't even think about cleaning it up! Enjoy your music!" 

Remington closed the door once he had gone but, for the first time since the wedding, didn't feel the need to lock it.