Trigger warning: Mentions of anxiety, panic attack, vomit, abuse/sexual assault (Brief)

From where he was standing, Andy could tell Remington was shaking, and he too was experiencing a horrible bout of anxiety that made him shiver involuntarily. He could barely listen to what the officiator was saying - something about promises and love - and couldn't make himself maintain eye contact with Remington for more than a second at a time. He had never felt so guilty in his life. 

In the past, he'd been responsible for firing hundreds of people, had witnessed them crying and begging for their jobs back, and while he had of course felt bad, he had never felt so helpless, so utterly wretched, as he did now. 

They were getting to the important part. The words, "Andrew Dennis Biersack, do you," begun, and Andy didn't hear the rest, just waited for the silence, without lifting his gaze to meet Remington's frightened eyes, said he did. And then came the words, "Remington Leith Kropp," and again, Andy didn't hear the rest, not until there was silence again, when the man before him sucked in a strangled breath, swallowed back a desperate sob, and said that he did. 

The rings were eighteen karat gold and Andy had paid for them himself, as he was supposed to. He could barely feel his fingers as he took Remington's unsteady hand and slid his ring on, and, looking right at him, he whispered, "I'm so sorry," and Remington couldn't look back, couldn't bear to see the face of the man who'd stolen everything from him. 

Remington struggled with Andy's ring and it only made the crying worse, and when they were told they could kiss, Andy leant in but kissed his cheek, not his lips, barely, and again whispered, "I'm so sorry." 

After, once they were officially husbands, they were to get in a car that was waiting. Black like all the others, and it drove them back to Andy's house, and Remington was so scared to get out, to be left alone with this stranger, that he couldn't make himself move, and Andy had to help him out and walk him up to the door, saying over and over how sorry he was. He was sure Remington didn't believe he meant it, sure he thought that it was an attempt at gaining his trust so he'd be easier to boss around later. 

Andy showed him around and spoke calmly and quietly, told him that anything in the kitchen was available to him, that he could eat and drink what he pleased, and pointed out where the plates were, and which drawer the cutlery was in. Remington wanted to lie down and wait for the beatings to begin. 

"This is yours," Andy said, opening the door to the spare bedroom, which would be spare no longer. "There's a bathroom through there, and this door locks from the inside. No keyhole, see, so if you lock it, you'll have to unlock it yourself to let me in. Your own space, I won't come in unless you ask me to, I won't let the housekeeper in unless you ask me to, it's yours. Completely." 

Is it a joke, Remington wondered. Is it a trick? 

"I went shopping for clothes the other day, but you don't have to wear anything you don't want to, and I've given you a wallet with a debit card that has £2000 in it so you can take yourself shopping. The pin's on a slip of paper in the wallet. If and when it runs out, I'll top it up for you. The main street is just a ten minute walk down the road when you turn left outside the house. You'll fine a few clothes shops and other things there." 

What's he gonna do, Remington thought. What's he gonna do to me? 

"There are only two things you have to do, and that's to keep the ring on and live here. As long as the ring is on and you're living here, you can do whatever you like." 

This must be a trick. He's gonna make me trust him and then he's gonna rape me, or lock me in, or batter me with a plank of wood. 

"I'll leave you alone now, I know how horrible this all is, and I'm so sorry. If there was another way, I'd take it, but they're so brutal. They're so brutal." 

Are you brutal, too? Are you brutal like them? 

Andy turned and walked away, left him in the doorway of the bedroom, and as soon as the man - his husband - was out of his sight, he slid down the doorframe and sobbed. Then he had to scramble for the bathroom because he was going to be sick, and he sat against the bathtub for some time after, unable to breathe, and so awfully aware of the gold on his finger that his hand was weighed down by its invisible chains, tethering him to this house, to that man, to it all. 

Now, this would be his life, and he would wake up every day and live it, and he'd become numb to it. Numb enough that it wouldn't be his life anymore, but the life of some poor, beaten boy whom he would watch, whom he would see wither a little bit every day, until his bones would be the only part of him left, and it would then not be a life, but a survival, in which he would eventually cease to exist at all.