Remington didn't wear a dress to dinner at Andy's, but a pair of straight-legged tartan trousers and a black turtle-neck. He had red eyeshadow to match the pants, and a dusting of highlighter that glittered under the streetlight at the end of the road. "Are you still being weird?" He asked as he stepped into the house. 

"Are you still a slut?" Andy retorted, though was smiling, and placed a friendly kiss on his cheek as he pushed the door closed.

"Are you going to be like that all evening?" 

"Like what?" Andy asked innocently. 

Remington shook his head and smiled. "At least I get dick," he said. "For all I know, you could be a virgin." 

"Sure, let's go with that. Pass me that wine." Taking the bottle from Remington's hand, he headed for the living room. 

"So...Are you gonna tell me anything about yourself, or do I have to guess?" 

"What do you want to know? I was born in Ohio and moved to California for my band, I got famous, then I decided I didn't want to be in a band anymore, so I quit and moved here." 

Remington sat on the couch. "And you just left your friends there? Ouch, that's cold." 

"What makes you think I had friends?" 

"You look like that." 

"I said no being a slut." 

"I'm being flattering. Stop calling me a slut. It's not very nice. You're supposed to be nice, or I won't talk to you anymore, and then what will you do? Anyway, what was your band called? I bet something like Hands of Death and Hell." 

"Black Veil Brides. And who says I have to be nice? You're the one who's been trying to get into my pants since I arrived, and by my terms, that makes you a slut." 

"I've not been trying to get into your pants, I've been hoping to. Big difference."

Andy hummed, opened the cupboard for glasses. 

"Black Veil Brides? I like mine better. And you can't have been that famous 'cause I've never heard of you." 

"We had a...select fanbase. You know. Those who loved us loved us, and those who didn't wished us to fall into the hands of death and hell. I loved the band, don't get me wrong, but in the end, I have so many songs written that I'd just never be able to release in a band. You know, pop-punk songs and stuff." 

"But why move to England to do that?" 

"I got a record deal offer and they're based here." He poured wine into two glasses and handed one to Remington. "And I've always loved England. Whenever we've toured, the shows here have always been my favourite." 

Remington took a sip of the wine. "So does the band still exists, you know, with a different singer, or...?" 

"No. It was always my band. I started it, I kept it going, I wrote everything. All the lyrics, anyway. It wouldn't have worked without me. I don't mean to sound self-absorbed, but most of out fans loved me the most." 

Laughing, Remington shook his head. "Oh, you are so self-absorbed." 

"And what about you, huh? Tell me about you." 

"I used to live in Keswick with my, uh, my birth parents and my brothers, shit got real, I was homeless for, like, a month, then David found me, took me in, and I've pretty much been with him and Frankie since." 

"How come you were homeless?" 

"Well," he begun, hesitating and looking at Andy as though determining whether he could tell him or not. "You know what teenagers are like." 

He was opting out of the conversation, Andy knew, and didn't press it, though had suspicions that it was something to with him being gay and dressing often in conventionally feminine clothes, and while he was a nosy person in general, he knew not to push it, not with something like that. "Indeed," he said, then, "I lived in my car for a solid year when I was around nineteen." 

"That does not surprise me. What's your surname?" 

"Why, thinking of marriage already?" 

"Don't be a dick. I'll tell you mine. It's Leith." 

"Biersack." 

"Thank you, now I can say what I wanted." 

"And what's that?" 

"That does not surprise me, Biersack." 

Andy snorted a laugh. "You're such an idiot and it's so helplessly adorable." 

"I'm not adorable. I'm tough." 

"Honey, please." 

"I have to be tough, I have tattoos. You know how tough you have to be for tattoos." 

 He left his glass on the table and opened the oven. "You're not that tough," he teased. "You don't have any on your neck, not like I do." 

"Oh, sorry, mister hardcore." 

"Too right, I am." 

"What's for dinner?" 

Taking the tray out of the over, And said, "roasted stuffed peppers." 

Under Remington's breath, "You can stuff my pepper." 

Andy burst into laughter and clumsily slid the tray onto the counter before dropping it. "God, you're impossible. I nearly dropped it, you fucking idiot." 

Remington shrugged and smiled. It'd had been a long time since he'd been in the company of someone who, in more ways than he currently aware, was just like him.