Make Me (Remdy)

We're All A Little Gay

Trigger warnings: mentions of depression, death

For three consecutive days, Remington doesn't turn up to rehearsals, even after being emailed, called, and texted, nobody hears from him. Andy decides to drop by and check everything is okay on the fourth day, knocking on the door and waiting patiently, despite their previous, insistent arguing.

Nobody turns up at the door and Andy notices that all the lights are off, so he turns and goes back to his car, sitting in the driver's seat as his phone buzzes. The message is from Remington, asking if it's him at the door. Andy says it is and waits in the car until he gets a second message, telling him that he can come in.

Remington soon opens the door and Andy gets out of the car, closing it and following the boy into the darkened house. "What's going on?" He asks, "you're supposed to be at rehearsal." Andy leans against the kitchen counter, trying not to mention the state of the room. Instead, he says, "can I help with anything?"

Avoiding the man's gaze, Remington mumbles, "it's fine. D'you want a drink or something?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Andy sighs. He can see there's something troubling Remington. "Look, why don't you have a shower or something and I'll clean up in here?"

"No, really, it's fine. I'll be at rehearsal tomorrow."

"I may not be the smartest person, Remington, but I ain't dumb. Either tell me what's going on or at least let me tidy up." He picks up a cloth from the sink and turns the hot tap on. "And you look wrecked, so talk to me. Is everything okay?"

"It's fine."

"Don't bullshit me. What's wrong? And don't say nothing because I've never seen you wear tracksuits, so something clearly is."

Evidently tired, Remington sits in a chair and puts his head on the table.

Putting the cloth down and turning the tap off, Andy sits beside him and softens his voice. "Is this where you've been for three days, huh? You not left the house?"

"You wouldn't get it."

"You're talking to a thirty-year-old divorcee with a dead kid, Remington, try me."

With heavy actions, Remington lifts his head and rubs his eyes. Then he shakes his head and returns it to the table.

"Listen, I get that you might not wanna tell me shit and I know I'm a cunt most of the time, but I do care about you, I swear. And everyone needs to talk sometimes, so please just use me as something to at least rant at for a while."

"Andy, it's fine. I'm dealing with it. Thanks though."

"Shush up for a sec and stop trying to be mister tough, alright? If it helps, I'm sorry for nearly breaking your arm and insulting you a shit ton and I hope you're alright."

"I'm just having a depressive episode or something. I dunno, it'll pass."

Andy puts a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, half expecting him to shrug it off. "Go sit in a hot bath, I'll tidy up down here and go to the shop for some comfort food. I take it you like chocolate ice cream?"

"Obviously."

The man hums. "Alright, cool."

"Can you get some other stuff too?"

"'course, I'll fill the fridge for you."

Remington gets up and finds his wallet, but Andy pushes it away. "Wha-Andy?"

"Let me pay, it's the least I can do."

"I can't decide whether you're nice or just desperate to build your ego."

Andy smiles, shrugs, and begins for the door. He returns to the house almost an hour later with three bags of shopping and a gift voucher for a spa worth eighty pounds. He cleans the kitchen and organises the food in the fridge, leaving the ice cream out to soften.

When Remington comes down, he's dressed in clean tracksuits and presses a grateful smile at the sight of a clean kitchen. "Haagen Dazs, fucking yes!"

"Doesn't take much to please you," says Andy. "Take it easy, alright? Don't come to rehearsal until Monday, I'd rather you got on top of your mental health before tiring yourself out again. There's something on the table for you, in the envelope. I'll see you later."

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

Remington picks up the ice cream. "Stay for a bit?"

"Sure."

"Thanks, Andy. For everything."

"Of course, Rem. I don't like seeing you like this."

"Spa voucher? What for?"

"For you, idiot. Treat yourself for once."

"Andy, this is worth a lot of money."

"Correct."

The boy furrows his brows. "Are you sure? I feel like I keep using you for your money and I don't mean to."

"No, darling, of course. I have a feeling you don't get much time to look after yourself so take a day off and go to the spa, get a massage, whatever you like. Just sit in a hot tub for three hours, it doesn't matter. Please just take care of yourself."

"Okay." His eyebrow raises. "Did you just call me darling?"

Andy shrugs innocently. "I don't recall saying that," he lies. "Where are the spoons?"

"Up your arse."

"Lovely."

Remington opens a drawer and hands a spoon to Andy. "Can you not tell anyone about this?"

"No, sure. I'm great at keeping secrets."

At that, the younger laughs loudly.

Amused at the outburst, Andy defensively says, "what? I am."

"Sure you are, buddy."

"Pass me the ice cream."

"Get your own."

"I bought that, idiot."

"Yeah, and? It's Haagen Dazs, I ain't sharing it with anyone."

Humming and digging his spoon into the tub, Andy chuckles. "I see how it is, huh? C'mon, let's put on a movie or something. D'you like rom-coms?"

Remington laughs again.

"What?"

"You're so gay."

Andy shakes his head, unimpressed.

"Yes, I do like rom-coms."