Forbidden Fixation (Obsessed!Doctor x Male!Reader)

First Session - 4

"...Y/n? ...Y/n?"

The boy in question groaned, sinking deeper into his hands.

"Y/n please don't make me report you again today. Eat something. The fruit at least," Daichi cajoled, glancing at the boy's untouched plate. "You know they'll take your weight and have you transferred back to the medical ward."

"Daichi if I'm not eating now, then I'm not eating," the boy snarled between clenched teeth. The orderly beside him stiffened. "Just," he gritted out, "Report. It."

"...How was your session with your new doctor yesterday?"

"Not good, Daichi. Not. Good. And it wasn't a session," Y/n corrected. "He simply... 'wanted to have a look at me' if I am to use his own words verbatim."

Daichi snorted derisively, "Yes and he's not the only one. You have a multitude of fan letters the orderlies are stuck going through."

Y/n grimaced, "...Fan mail? ...Still?"

"Yes," for once, Daichi agreed with a mass murderer's sentiment. The idea of someone like Y/n receiving love letters was, in a word, repulsive. However, it was not unheard of. Many serial killers and other notorious criminals had their fan following. It was nearly cult-like.

"How disturbing. Please, get rid of all of them."

Daichi hesitated, "There was another... Um, (S/b) sent another request in. They want to visit you."

"...(S/b)?" Y/n repeated numbly.

"You reserve the right to an hour's visitation, however —"

Y/n's face contorted into an expression of such malice, Daichi choked on the rest of his words.

"No, I do not. I waive that right. Allow no one to visit me. I will be shut away in this sanitarium until the day I die, cut off from the outside world. No visitors. Under any circumstances." (S/c) hands were clenching around pointed plastic wear.

"Okay, Y/n," Daichi put on his gentle orderly disposition, unwilling to provoke Y/n. The other patients here could be prone to violence, sure, but no one had nearly killed someone like Y/n had with that doctor of his... Fujimoto was it?

Daichi wasn't going to be the boy's next "Incident Report."

Y/n's nostrils flared before he stabbed a piece of cubed fruit. The spork went straight through the fruit, straight through the tray, and splintered into about four pieces as it hit the table.

Blood trickled down Y/n's hand.

"Haa... dammit," the (h/c) boy exhaled. "You're not going report me for violence, are you?"

Daichi carefully didn't answer. "So when's your first session with the new doctor?"

By the shrewd look in Y/n's eyes, he knew the boy saw right through his abrupt change in subject. A shudder raced down Daichi's spine.

"I don't know," Y/n replied quietly, retreating into himself.

The other patients in the cafeteria milled around; early sunlight broke through.

After breakfast was over, Orderly Daichi could be seen filing several reports.

Y/n was more careful today; more aware. He was sitting with his legs crossed on his bed, head bowed, eyes shut, and ears straining. He picked up the exact moment the neat, faint click of heels — of dress shoes: dress shoes. Not the guards, not the orderlies: it had to be Haitani.