Make Me (Remdy)

We All Lose

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death.

The wedding was a mistake. Andy realises that now. He realised it long ago. He and Juliet, they aren't happy together, aren't compatible, shouldn't still be together. For years, they've been a couple merely to please the internet. Two young, hot rock stars. Everyone loves that.

Well, obviously they don't.

Arguing with his wife is nothing new, specially not as of recently. If he's being honest, he knows they're as bad as each other. They both find things to fight about regularly and they both escalate the arguments by yelling and throwing insults around. Andy doesn't know how it all went so wrong. He used to love her, used to want to spend all his time with her, to be with her forever, and yet now...

It's as though God, should he exist (Andy thinks not) has decided that they cannot be happy, that for whatever reason, they don't deserve such a thing. Is sad, really, to live like this, to know he's going home after a long day of putting on his 'I don't give a fuck' mask to another petty argument, another pointless shouting tournament over who's made the worst mistake recently, who should be the one to apologise, who gets the bed for the night because there's absolutely no way in hell that them sharing is ever gonna happen.

Tonight, of course, is no different. Andy is the last to return 'home', not that it feels that way, and discovers his wife making dinner for herself without any thought of him. "Fucking charming," he says dryly, opening the fridge with dissatisfaction. "Guess I'll eat a fucking old carrot then. Would it kill you to do the shopping once in a fucking while?"

Juliet doesn't turn to look at him. "You're the one who insists on staying out so late."

"Wow, sorry for making all the money in this marriage! It ain't my fault your music earns fuck all."

"I earn plenty, thank you very much!"

"Yeah? Well maybe you could start buying important things with it rather than making us broke by buying fucking flares, which look shit, by the way! You know, we do actually need food! I ain't no fucking supermarket, start buying it yourself if you're gonna eat it all without saving shit for me!"

Juliet scoffs. "Fucking starve to death if you're too entitled to get your own shit! I'm not your mother."

"No, my mother isn't a bitch. Get out the way, jesus christ."

"Don't fucking tell me what to do."

Andy shoves her away from the stove. "Considering you keep pissing me the fuck off, I can do what I like, thank you very much. And fucking remember that I own this house, not you! I bet you haven't paid bills once in your life!"

"Oh, and you have? Like you don't get your fucking manager to do that shit for you like the lazy pig you are!"

"My manager doesn't pay my fucking bills, the fuck would I make him do that for? Unlike you, I actually know how to do that shit. Not my fault you spend all your time internet shopping."

"It's online shopping, you fucking idiot."

"Oh, so sorry!"

"Fucking move!"

Andy growls. "Fucking go to the shop for once and then maybe I'll think about it."

After making himself a rather disappointing meal thanks to the lack of food in the house, Andy escapes to his podcast room at the back of the house, closing the door, locking it from the inside, and sitting on the couch heavily.

He wipes unwelcome, irritating tears away with the back of his hand, not understanding why such a stupid thing is making him upset. It's not his job to get upset, it's his job prove that he's just as much of a dick as everyone claims him to be.

Juliet begins yelling his name an hour or so later, nagging him to clean the kitchen and so on, so he shouts at her, throws a plate on the floor, and leaves the building angrily. Andy walks to the graveyard because he likes how quiet it always is there and he thinks it's beautiful how well taken care of many of the graves are. He hopes that his will be looked after by somebody who loves him enough to bother when he dies. That'd be nice.

Two graves that catch his attention tonight are beside each other, framed with well-kept grass and a flowerpot for each. He crouches in front of them and reads the carvings. The one on the left reads:

Emerson Barrett
1996 - 2021
Brother, Lover and friend with so much more to give.
'Thanks, Sebastian, for protecting me.'

Andy frowns. He was only twenty-four. Younger than he is, and yet lying in a box without the privilege of feeling the cool evening breeze against his skin, ruffling his hair. Andy could cry, specially when he reads the grave beside Emerson's.

Sebastian Danzig
1992 - 2021
Brother, Lover and friend who'd give anything to protect his family one more time.
'Protect baby brother at all costs it what they teach you in big brother school.'

Andy shakes his head. Twenty-four and twenty-eight, gone just like that. He wonders what happened, what they looked like, who takes care the graves so beautifully. Then he gets up and wanders on.