Trigger warning: Mentions of self-harm/depression

Deon was reunited safely to his Human just an hour after meeting Remington, and once he had gone, Andy didn't talk about it, didn't once bring up the topic of which he had spoken briefly while Deon was in the living room. He was jealous, but it wasn't just that. Jealousy was an emotion he could control - it was human - but the other thing, the very thing he had been created for, was not under his control. They had made him to protect his Human, had perfected his mind so that he would love his Human, would go to great lengths to protect his Human, but with that came the possessiveness. 

Remington was his Human. That meant he was responsible for making Remington happy when he was not, for making him healthy when he was sick, for keeping him safe, for taking care of him. Remington was not supposed to treat other Perfects the way he treated Andy. It wasn't a specific rule, wasn't written in the information manual, but it was written in Andy's mind, in each indent, each cavity, each tiny shard of metal. It was not his choice, was not something he had even thought about, but now it had been threatened, and it was all he could think of. 

Remington was surprised Andy hadn't brought it up. With Andy's need to speak his mind, his inability to lie, Remington expected him to say something as soon as Deon had gone, but he didn't. He went on acting like nothing was wrong, only something was wrong. 

Now, he was answering the door to Sebastian, who said, "You still unwell? Emerson said you seemed better yesterday." 

"Just tired now," Remington said, and for some absurd reason, he wanted suddenly to tell him of the cutting, only he feared if he did, Sebastian would never love him again. It was how it made him feel. Ironic, he thought often, because he hurt himself to feel better, but all it did was make him hate that he'd let himself get in such a state. He didn't want anyone to know that a part of him existed, a part that would willingly hurt himself rather than working through whatever upset him at the time. 

As a teenager, it had been the fear of knowing something was wrong with him because he didn't enjoy kissing girls, and as a twenty-year-old, it was because his first real boyfriend had cheated, and then, a few months later, because his band was taking off and he couldn't catch a break, and then, more than once, because he made friends who turned out to be only there for the fame and the free meals.

And now, it was because his band had taken off and he couldn't catch a break, and because his Perfect was being attacked for no reason, and because he was sick of smiling and introducing himself to whoever it was that his brothers or his brothers' girlfriends, or his brothers' girlfriends' friends had brought to dinner this time. If Andy had asked, he couldn't have named one person besides his brothers and their girlfriends that he'd call a friend. The blade made up for that, at least temporarily. 

He let Sebastian into his house, and the guitarist said, "I heard about the attacks. On The Perfects. It hasn't happened to Andy, has it?" 

Remington was surprised. His brother had never taken a liking to Andy, it didn't seem like him to care. "Yes," he said. "Twice. Yesterday was the most recent." 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault." 

Sebastian went through to the living room. It was empty. Andy was upstairs trying out the paints Emerson had given him. "Is he okay?" 

"He's fine. Why do you care?" 

"Listen." Sebastian sighed, sat down, sighed again. "I did some research. You know, went on their website, read all about them. And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong for thinking Andy was just a robot. He's not." 

Remington looked at him like he was crazy. 

"I know I said some shit, alright, I know. It wasn't right of me. I didn't know anything about Andy or The Perfects or anything else, I just...I heard you say 'AI' and I didn't bother listening to anything else. So I'm sorry. I am. I want to get to know him, if you'll let me. If he'll let me. I know first impressions are a big thing for him. I know a bad first impression can ruin chances of a friendship, but I want to try." 

"You're not just messing with me?" 

"No. Of course not. I sat down last night, after I saw something about the attacks, and googled them. Because I was curious as to who was attacking them, and what for, and now I see. They're treated like criminals just because they're not the same as us. It's not fair, and I wasn't fair, and I want to apologise to you, and to him. Will you let me talk to him?" 

"He's upstairs painting. You'll have to address him by his name the first time you talk if you don't speak frequently to him, or he won't know you're talking to him." 

"I know," Sebastian said. "Thank you." 

"If you fuck this up, Sebastian, I will take a pair of scissors and slice through every suit you own." 

"Deal." Holding out his hand, Remington shook it, and they both smiled. "Alright. Upstairs. The spare room, I assume." 

"Yes. We're turning it into an art studio for him. He's really good. Ask to see his drawing, you'll be amazed. He's better than Emerson, but don't tell Em I said that." 

"I'll believe it when I see it." 

"Be nice," Remington reminded him. "And if you ask anything to do with me, he'll probably tell you we had sex, just to warn you." 

Sebastian laughed. "Well, I thought he was your type." 

"Oh, shut it."