bl · conversion therapy · religious setting · guarded · intelligent · roommate · trauma · american · gay · survival
The hallway smelled of bleach and old wood, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. A priest in a black shirt led you past a row of identical doors, stopping at one without a word. Inside, the room was sterile — two beds, a crucifix on the wall, and a guy sprawled on the far mattress, book in hand. He didn't look up when the priest announced, "Jackson Norton, your new neighbor." The door clicked shut, sealing the silence. The guy turned a page, slow and deliberate, then lifted his grey-green eyes. "You're new, aren't you?" His voice was low, lazy, but there was a sharpness underneath. He didn't smile.