Agh sorry its been a while
Follow me on Inkitt I'm writing a story there that's a continuation of the one shot Shiny Desks are Meant for Getting Railed On or smth I can't remember the exact name. I'm aliyssaa on there too, and chapter 2 is published. The book is called Easy Money.

Trigger warnings: mentions of eating disorders, self harm, suicide, brief mention of drugs but its like one single word.

Remington continues struggling against the doctor, who seems to be clueless considering he works in a psych ward. If he wasn't scared for his life, Remington would laugh.

When he isn't released, the boy begins getting violent, kicking and hitting him with the arm that isn't gripped in such a bad memory-inducing manner. He feels like he's in immediate danger, like he has to escape and get away or something terrible will happen.

"Doctor Richards!" A voice shouts. Remington thinks he recognises it as his therapist. "Don't touch patients! Let him go!"

Remington runs back inside in tears as soon as he's released, sitting under the desk in his room and bringing his knees to his chest.

Dr Jameson, Remington's therapist, pulls Dr Richards to the side. "What you just did is unacceptable," he says quietly but not calmly, "that man has been abused for years on end and has a history of hallucinating his abuser. You just triggered that. Do you know how awful that is?"

"I didn't know."

The man looks away for a moment. "That's not an excuse. You are in a building where every single person here is dealing with something. Remington is neck-deep in anorexia, depression, and PTSD. He, as should be clear just from looking at him, should be talked to and handled gently. You cannot treat anyone, and I mean anyone, like that. It's not okay at all and you've probably given that poor boy a panic attack." He shakes his head. "I know you're new here, but come on. This is just not acceptable." With that, Dr Jameson goes to make sure Remington isn't doing himself any harm.

Remington hears the door open. "Andy?" He asks, because that's who he needs.

"Afraid not," the man says softly.

"Where is he?"

"Let's concentrate on you, alright. How are you feeling?"

Remington rolls up his hoodie sleeve and shows him the bruise on his arm, where he was grabbed. "Scared," he mumbles, "hurt."

"Can we come out from under here and have a glass of water?"

"I want Andy."

"You two have gotten pretty close, huh?"

Remington rubs his eyes. "We've been married for years," he says, "where is he?"

"Sneaky, aren't you? Making me think you'd just met him."

The boy shrugs.

"I'm gonna get you some water," he decides.

Remington nods, stays quiet while the therapist leaves. He puts his head between his knees, whispers, "fucking Holly."

When the man returns, he hands Remington a bottle of cold water and encourages him to sit on the bed. "How're we doing?" He asks.

The boy sips the water. "Fine," he mumbles, "just confused."

"Yeah?"

"It's s'posed to be a safe place here, I thought, but now I don't feel safe."

"That's understandable, Remington. What Dr Richards did isn't acceptable."

"Then why'd he do it?"

"He's new here."

Remington sighs.

Dr Jameson, who's sitting in the desk chair, checks his watch. "I need to go," he says, "but do come by if you need anything, alright?"

"Okay."

Andy is still missing the next morning. Remington can't help but to worry about him as he sits in the canteen at breakfast. He wonders if something bad happened at night, that Andy was in danger or perhaps just got sick.

In the early evening, while he's reading, Andy finally appears. Remington closes his book and kneels on the bed, holding his arms out.

"Bad day, huh?" Andy asks quietly, picking him up like he knows he wants him to. He sways like he's holding a crying child and Remington hums.

"Where'd you go?" The boy mumbles, "needed you."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Wasn't my choice. They took blood tests and shit, I don't know. Something to do with the drugs."

"But you're okay?"

"I'm okay," Andy assures, "now, why do you sound on the edge of tears? Wanna talk about it?" He continues swaying. "I haven't seen you this desperate for me to pick you up in a while, either. Did something happen?"

Remington sighs and nods.

"What was it,sweetie?"

The boy presses his head into his husband's neck, where the feather tattoo is. "Some girl called Holly... She's a fan of you."

Andy hums in acknowledgement.

"Well," he sighs again, "she said she thought we weren't actually together and then she said shit that basically meant I'm disgusting and ugly and that you'd never want me to send you, like, photos. And then I stuck my middle finger up at her and this new doctor guy, who, by the way, had huge fucking sweat marks, fucking made me apologise. Like, he grabbed me and didn't let go even though I told him it hurt and now I've got a bruise that I didn't give to myself."

"Jesus," Andy whispers, "that sounds awful, I'm sorry I wasn't here when it happened. Where's the bruise? I don't want hurt you by touching it."

Remington smiles at that, at how considerate he is. "On my arm. I swear, you can see finger prints." He doesn't move when Andy sits on one of the beds. "And my arm's only small, I don't have nothing to protect it like some muscly guy."

"Did you tell someone? He should he fired."

"Mhm. Why're you letting go? Don't do that."

"I'm just getting your book," Andy says with a chuckle. "That girl sounds like a bitch and a half, too. I don't want a fan like that."

"My book? Why?" He has his eyes closed. It's just nice to have a hug after a few days. And Andy always knows how to give him the best hugs.

"So I can read to you. You stopped halfway through a chapter. We can't be having that."

"She is a bitch," Remington agrees, responding to Andy's earlier words. "Like, if someone doesn't like me, why waste time telling me that? And in a fucking pysch ward where I am obviously already not doing good? Imagine how she'd feel if she was the last person to talk to me before I strangled myself with a pair of tracksuit pants. She'd feel well bad."

Andy kisses his unhappy pout. "D'you know who would feel even worse? Me. Your husband. Y'know, the guy who loves you so much that he didn't care that you wore a red onesie instead of a suit to marry me. So let's not think about strangling ourselves, alright? Let's think about how you're eating all your food and you're not hurting yourself and you had a bad few days and aren't taking it out on me by shouting like you used to. Let's think about how proud of you we are, kitty cat."

"If I cry now, that's your fault and you have to deal with me not letting you put me down for the next twenty four hours."

Andy smiles while holding the book up to read. "You thought I was gonna put you down?" He lies back and Remington settles, calmer now, on him. "And I won't ask what the fuck's going on in this story no matter how badly I want to."

"Basically the girl Florence has just had a baby and her sister's jealous 'cause she can't have kids and they're arguing about it."

"Got it," Andy murmurs, "comfy?"

"Mhm."

"Good." He begins reading from the top of the page that Remington folded the corner of, keeping his voice down and stopping, nearly an hour later, when the boy mumbles that he's too sleepy to focus anymore. "I need the loo," Andy whispers.

Remington mumbles something the man doesn't understand.

Andy moves his husband off him, avoiding his arms as to not touch the bruise. "One sec," he whispers, and quickly goes into the bathroom. When he returns, Remington is fast asleep. He smiles, picks up Remington's sketchbook, and begins drawing the boy as he sleeps.