Quite a long one but worth it (I hope??)
Trigger Warning: Mentions of death, anxiety, panic attack
Working late had become a norm for Remington over the last couple of weeks, what with the approaching tour and album that was soon to be released. He and his band worked relentlessly most days and well into the nights, tweaking songs, planning stage setups and outfits, discussing the possible setlists, and writing new songs.
With so much to do, he had been spending such a small amount of time with his husband that he had started to miss the man as though he were away on tour, when in fact he was home recording podcast episodes and recuperating from the long string of shows his band has played in the UK (I wish).
The release of their single, Fever Dream, was a huge relief for Remington. Not only did it mean he could stop worrying about it, about anything that might need adjusting, but he could also be proud of it, of what he and his brothers had created. Though there was still much to do, the release of Fever Dream made it all seem worthwhile; they were moving forwards, when often, it felt, at least to him, like they had their feet in concrete, unable to make any progress. This was the confirmation they needed, and it was very welcome.
It was early on a Tuesday morning, just gone three, when they decided to go home and return to their work after a few hours of needed sleep. Remington wanted to call Andy, tell him he was on his way, but saw there being no point. Andy would be long in bed by that time, and waking him with a phone call was unkind when he had nothing really to say other than that he'd be home soon.
He drove home, yawning every few minutes, the darkness of the sky concealing the rising smoke that was billowing over the buildings. Only when he approached the end of his street did he realise something was going on - there was a fire engine blocking the road and people in high-visibility jackets scurrying about, talking into radios, spraying industrial sixed hoses at a house.
Unable to get any further, Remington pulled out his key and left the car in the street, began walking down the pavement, though was stopped by a police man, who said, "Sorry, sir. I'm afraid you can't pass this point."
Remington looked past the man and his face filled with awful dread. He stared at the fire, the orange flames making his eyes burn as though the heat were inside of his head. "That's-that's my house," he said, his voice giving a calmness that he did not feel. "My house is on fire."
"What's your name, please, sir?"
"Remington. Biersack. My husband was in there. Is he okay? Where is he? Can I see him?" Then he started to call loudly Andy's name, eyes darting around for the man, growing panicked when he couldn't find him. "My husband," he repeated to the officer, who was trying to explain the protocol regarding a house fire. "My husband, where is he? Where is he?"
"You say he was in the house tonight?"
"Yes! Yes, he was! Tell me he's out here! Tell me he's safe! Andy! Andy, where are you?"
"Remington, the fire crew have searched the house upon arrival, they have found nobody inside."
"No, that's not right. He's in there. He's in there!" He jabbed his arm aggressively towards the burning building at the end of the street, shouting, "Get him out! You have to get him out!"
Into his radio, the officer said, "Reports of a man inside the house. Repeat, reports of a man inside. Over."
Remington tried to push past him but was held back. "Andy!" He started to yell, eyes quickly filling and spilling over his cheeks. "Andy!" He drew out the name into a sort of wail, fighting against the police officer while his anxiety rose into terror as the minute dragged on and there was no sign of Andy.
