Writing this in the boiling sun with the cats rolling around on the hot surface of the outside table is a vibe 

Comment and vote and all that jazz babes 

Trigger Warning: Mentions of blood/ injury

As he stepped over the threshold and into Andy's house, Remington's eyes were wild. They darted from surface to surface, object to object, and Andy closed the door, told him to take off his shoes, then realised he wasn't wearing any.  

"How about we take a look at those cuts in the bathroom?" He suggested, hanging his jacket up. 

Remington stared at him like he had no idea what he was talking about. Then he asked, "Bathroom?" 

"You need the bathroom? Sure, it's up here. Let me show you." 

"No. Bathroom. What is it?" 

Andy was surprised. "Oh. It's where you wash, and also where you go to the toilet. Come and see." 

Shaking his head, Remington took a few steps back, until he hit the front door. "I wash in the river," he mumbled. "Bathroom's not mine." 

"You've never used a shower?" 

"A...what?" 

"You know when it rains?" 

He nodded. 

"A shower is like that, only the rain is nice and warm, and you can turn it on and off with a button. Come and see." Andy gestured to the stairs. 

"Warm rain," Remington said to himself, frowning. "That's not normal." 

Andy chuckled. "No, I suppose it isn't. But it's lovely, I promise. And if you don't like it warm, you can make it cold just like real rain."  

Pointing to a framed award on the wall, Remington said, "What's that?" 

"Oh, it's something me and my band won for having lots of fans." 

For a moment, he just stared. Then he asked, "What?" 

"Never mind. It's not important right now. What's important is that we take care of your injuries so that you can heal. I have a first aid kit upstairs." 

"A what?" 

"Come with me and I'll show you. And I'll get you some proper clothes to wear. These rags are practically non-existent." 

Slowly, Remington nodded, followed Andy up the stairs, confused but quiet. 

In the bathroom, Andy told him to sit on the closed toilet while he found the first aid kid. "Is it okay if you take off what you're wearing? I'll get you some underwear and wait outside while you change." 

"Under what?" 

"Underwear? Clothes to cover your, uh, private area." 

Remington stared again.

"You know. Your crotch?" 

"What?" 

"Wait right here." Andy left the room to get a pair of boxers, and when he returned, Remington was looking fearfully at his reflection in the mirror. 

He put a finger to the glass and jumped backwards. 

"That's a mirror," Andy told him. "Shows you what you look like." 

"Is that...is that person real?" 

"That's you." 

"No..." 

"Look, if I stand here, you can see me, too. See? It's a reflection."

"It's not me. I'm me. How can someone else be me?" He touched the glass again and flinched.

Andy didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at how oblivious he was to the world. "It's a really shiny surface," he explained. "So anything that's in front of it is reflected. Like when you look down on a puddle and see your face." 

"Oh," Remington whispered. 

"Anyway, here's some underwear. I'll stand just outside while you change, okay? Shout if you need anything." He put the clothes down on the side and Remington touched it like it was dangerous. "The holes are for your legs," Andy said.

"It looks evil." 

"Evil?" 

"Yes. Evil." 

"Why's that?" 

He poked the fabric. "Blood." 

Andy furrowed his brows. "Oh, because it's red? Do you want a different colour? How about black?" 

"Okay." 

This time, when Andy returned with the pair of black boxers, Remington was tipping the contents of a paracetamol bottle onto the side and prodding at the pills. "They're for pain relief," Andy told him. "Put them back, alright?" 

"Pain relief?" 

"They stop you feeling pain. Do you want some? Those cuts look pretty nasty." 

"Will I die?" 

Andy collected the pills into the container. "No, of course not. They're perfectly safe, as long as you don't take more than just one or two at a time. Here." He filled a glass with water and handed it to Remington along with the painkillers. "Put them in your mouth and swallow them with water." 

"No thank you." 

"Alright. Your choice. I'll leave you to change into the underwear." 

"Okay." 

Andy closed the bathroom door behind him and stood against it. After a few minutes, he called, "You okay in there?"

"Finished," came a thin voice, so he turned the handle and stepped in. 

"Ah, good. You did it. Now, how about a shower to clean you up? You're all muddy. Your skin must feel so uncomfortable." 

"Shower," Remington echoed. "Warm rain?" 

"That's right. Do you want to test it with your hand first, to see if you like it?" 

"Okay." 

Turning the shower on, Andy made sure it wasn't much hotter than lukewarm before telling Remington to hold his hand underneath. 

He did, and almost immediately jumped away and wiped his hand on his leg until it was dry again. "No," he said. 

"Too warm?" 

Remington nodded, so Andy turned the heat down. This time, Remington kept his hand under for more than a minute before pulling away. "Okay," he said. 

"Alright. Just step carefully under. If you need it to stop, tell me and I'll turn it off." 

He nodded again, looked at his feet as he stepped into the shower, eyes wide. 

Andy smiled encouragingly at him, standing beside the glass that was stopping water from splashing onto the floor, trying not to look for too long at Remington and the many cuts, bruises, and inflamed patches on his body. He imagined how much constant pain he would have been in.

When Remington decided he was done, he stepped carefully out, nearly slipping over in a flurry to get away when Andy held a towel towards him.

"Woah, easy," the man said. "It's just to dry you off."

"No."

"Okay. Alright. Sit down here. Let's have a look at the damage."

"Warm rain makes it sting."

"I know. Sorry about that. It'll stop soon. Can I touch you? Is that okay?"

"No!"

"You wanna do it yourself? Okay. Take this, then. Dab it over the cuts. It's gonna make the stinging worse, but it'll stop any infections from happening."

"What is it?"

"It's an antiseptic wipe."

"What?"

"It kills all the nasty germs in the open wounds and stops them from getting worse."

Remington hesitantly took the wipe. "It feels strange," he said. "I don't like it." He passed it back to Andy and wiped his hand on his leg.

"It needs to be done or you might get really sick."

"No thank you."

"I promise you'll be fine."

"No."

"What about if I find something to distract you with?"

"No. It's evil."

Andy shook his head. "It's not evil. It's good."

"It's evil," Remington repeated.

"Okay. Well, at least you've had a shower, I suppose. It's better than nothing. Come with me and I'll find you some clean clothes."

"I want to put mine on."

"No, they're all dirty. They need to go in the bin now."

"No! They're mine."

"I know they are, but you don't need them anymore. You're going to get sick if you keep wearing the same dirty things."

"I want to put mine on," Remington repeated firmly, reaching for them.

Andy picked the rags up. "I'm sorry, but no. You've just got nice and clean, putting these on will ruin all that effort. You can choose whatever you want from my wardrobe."

"What?"

"It's where my clothes are."

"I want mine."

"They're filthy."

"I want mine."

Andy sighed. "How about I put them through the washing machine, then?"

"The what?"

"It'll get rid of all the dirt."

"Okay. Then I put them on?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"But for now, you at least need something to keep you warm. How about a blanket? You can sit in the living room and I'll get you a drink and something to eat."

"I already ate."

"I know, but you look hungry."

Remington put his hand on his stomach. "Yes," he agreed. "Okay. I eat. But no people, promise?"

"Food is just downstairs, so no people, just me, okay?" He frowned. "You're shivering. Come with me. I'll get you a dry pair of underwear and a blanket."

"What?"

"A blanket? It's like a big piece of soft fabric that keeps you all nice and warm."

"Is it evil?"

"Definitely not. Why don't you come and decide which one you want? I have a few."

Remington nodded, followed him out of the bathroom, then stopped at the top of the stairs and said, "It's like my house."

"Yeah?"

"My house has steps, too." His expression sank. "They took it."

"Why did that do that?"

"They didn't know I was there."

"I see."

"Now it's all gone."

"Well, this is your house now."

"It is?"

Andy nodded, smiled. "Of course. Is that okay?"

"Is it just you?"

"That's right."

"Okay."

"Alright, this way." He continued across the landing, Remington trailing behind, stopping again to look at a picture on the wall. "That's me and my parents," Andy explained. "When I was younger." 

"Your...what?" 

"Parents? Mum and dad." 

"What?"

"The people who raised me." 

"What?" 

"You don't have parents?" 

Remington stared at him, then at the picture. "I'm just me," he said. "And sometimes there's my brothers, but they're not real. I made them up." 

"You've been living all alone for your whole life?" 

"I'm just me," he said again. 

Andy hummed and opened his bedroom door, ushered Remington in, and took a thick pile of blankets from the top of the wardrobe.