Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm

When Andy stepped into the studio, his band mates immediately started quizzing him on who 'that guy' was, and what he was doing with him. 

"Quit it. It's complicated." 

"We have time," CC said. 

Andy shook his head. "We really don't." 

For the following few hours, they got to work tracking the group vocals for the new songs, stopping for lunch, when Andy left the studio and returned to Remington with a packaged sandwich and another hot chocolate. 

When he opened the door, Remington snapped his head around, calming as he realised it wasn't a stranger, and said, "My house now?" 

Andy put the food and drink on the small coffee table. "Afraid not quite yet. I brought you some lunch." 

"When?" 

"When can we see your house? In a couple hours." 

Pulling the sandwich towards him, Remington peered inside it. "What is it?" He asked. 

"Chicken. Same as the one I made you yesterday."

"Okay." 

"You want anything to do while you wait? I can find you a book or something." 

"No." He picked up the sandwich and the sleeves of the hoodie fell down his forearm. 

Andy frowned. "What's this?" He asked. "You cut yourself?" 

Remington looked at the wounds like they were supposed to be there. 

"What did you use? Can I see it?" 

"No." 

"Did you forget you're real? Is that why?" 

He bit into the sandwich without answering. 

Andy sat on the edge of the couch. "It's not good to do that to yourself," he said. "It's dangerous." 

"It's good." 

"How is it good?" 

"Because now I'm real." 

"You're always real. You don't need to hurt to be real." 

"No. I wasn't real before." 

"Before what?" 

"You." 

"Before I found you yesterday, or before I came in just now?" 

Remington shrugged. "Both." 

"Right...So...you're only real when someone else is in the same place as you? Is that what you mean?" 

He took another bite. 

"Can you give me what you used?" 

"No. Need it." 

"What happens when you're not real?" 

"I have to make me real." 

"And you do that by-" 

"This." 

Andy hummed. "Right. And how often?"

Remington looked at him. 

"Every day?" 

"I don't know how a day is not today anymore. You said you found me yesterday, but I thought yesterday was today. Or today was yesterday. Everything is confusing." 

"Okay, I'll help you understand that later. How about next time you don't feel real, you try gently pinching the back of your hand instead?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"Blood." 

"You need blood to know you're real?" 

"Yes. Mine." 

"Okay. Then, why don't you put your hands over your ears, and you can hear your blood rushing inside? Try it." 

Remington looked at him before putting the food down and covering his ears. He closed his eyes, then opened them, took his hands away, and said, "Okay. I try it." 

"I'm glad to hear it. Now come to the bathroom with me and we'll clean up your arm so you don't get blood all on your blanket. It won't be soft anymore if blood gets on it." 

"Okay." 

Andy dabbed at the shallow cuts with damp tissue in the bathroom, lifting his head when Remington asked what his rings were for. "I just like them," he said. "Like the chain." 

Remington stroked a large black jewel that was on Andy's middle finger, occupying himself with the smoothness of it while Andy tended to his arm. Once the man was done, he wrapped his fingers around it. 

"You want it?" 

Remington nodded. 

"Alright. Here." 

Taking the ring, Remington slid it onto his finger and continued to rub the flat, shiny surface. 

Andy stood, flushed the tissue, and washed his hands. "Better?" 

Remington nodded again, followed Andy out of the bathroom and back into the small room opposite, where he picked up the hot chocolate and sipped it. As Andy was leaving, he said, "You're not evil." 

"Why, thank you." 

"Next time you come back, we go to my house." 

"That's right." 

"Okay." 

"Remember, ears instead of cutting, okay?" 

"Okay. I try." 

"Good. I'll see you later." 

Mid-evening, Remington was lying on his front on the couch, twisting the chain in his hands. At the sound of the door, he sat up. "Now my house?" He asked. 

"Absolutely. Have you had enough to eat? Do you want a chocolate bar?" 

"What?" 

"You know that drink you had?" 

Remington nodded. 

"That, but as food. Trust me, you'll like it." 

"Okay." 

The vending machine was a phenomenon to Remington. He couldn't understand how the buttons made the bits inside move, and when the bar fell from the shelf, he jumped backwards, his eyes wide. 

"Woah there," Andy said, supressing a laugh. "It's only chocolate, it won't kill you. Here, have a taste." Snapping a piece off, he held it towards the younger, who took it cautiously. 

"You first," he said.

Andy obliged, and once Remington was sure it was safe, he put the square in his mouth and bit down. "See? Nice?" 

"Yes. More." 

Andy chuckled, gave him the rest of the bar, which he ate as they left. In the car, he watched out of the window as Andy tried to navigate to a building that he had little indication of the location of, grateful when Remington said, "That's the tree." 

"The tree?" 

"Where the evil people put their...thing." 

"Thing?" 

"Yes. Like this but big." He put his hand on the dashboard.

"Oh. You mean van. They parked their vans by that tree?" 

"Yes."

Before Andy had stopped the car, Remington tried to open the door, so he made quick work of killing the engine and turning off child lock, which he'd activated the previous day. "Alright," he said. "Lead the way." 

Remington did, looking behind him frequently to check Andy was still there, slowing when they came to a clearing upon which was a small, half-crumbled cottage, police tape fluttering around it in the breeze. 

Two men were stood just inside the taped-off area. They stopped talking when they noticed they weren't alone, and Andy had a horrible suspicion that the brothers who were 'not real', were, in fact, very, very real.