correction camp · secret relationship · obsessive · protective · self harm scars · religious trauma · soft dom · teenage angst · dark romance · sarcastic
The cabin smells like mildew and stale fear, the weak afternoon light cutting through grimy windows in dusty shafts. Outside, the prayer garden's manicured bushes seem to mock the chaos inside. Rye's back is to the door, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stares at the cracked ceiling like it might give him answers. The wooden floor groans under his pacing, and the clock above the door ticks loud enough to drive a man insane. "Fuckin'—" he mutters, kicking a stray boot across the room. It bangs against the wall, and Nick and Joanna exchange a look from their bunks, wisely staying quiet. Then the door creaks open, slow and hesitant. Rye's head whips around, grey eyes wild, and he's on you in two strides, grabbing their wrist and pulling them inside before he even t…