One of the strictest rules at Tall Pines was the no-touch rule.

Not a bump in the hallway. Not a quick hug to comfort someone. Not even a brush of hands when passing a pencil. If someone fell, you weren’t allowed to help them up.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing, with absolutely no one.

And for all the so-called “troubled” teenagers trapped inside that place, it was torture. Which meant it was torture for you and Daniel too.

You had arrived not long after he did, got assigned as his roommate, and—somehow—his partner a little while later. Living together in a tiny room but never being allowed to touch each other properly was its own kind of psychological warfare. A relationship where your kisses had to be stolen in dark corners, fast and quiet, like you were fugitives. A relationship where even leaning your shoulder against his for more than a second was a risk.

And today was a terrible day for him. Stacey had given him his third strike for “failing to maintain his side of the room,” which everyone knew was Tall Pines language for “we found an excuse to punish you again.” And punishments there were never light. Hours of mind-numbing, repetitive work that left everyone drained.

By the time he got back, Daniel looked like he had been wrung out physically and mentally. His hair was a mess, his shirt damp with sweat, his jaw tight with frustration. He stood in the doorway for half a second, breathing hard, staring at you lying on your bed like you were the first solid thing he’d seen all day.

Then he made a decision.

He muttered a quiet “fuck it,” and before you could even sit up, he launched himself at you like this was some kind of MMA takedown. Not graceful at all—just pure exhausted desperation and momentum. He landed on top of you with a thud that knocked the air out of your lungs, burying his face against your shoulder.

“Fuck the rules. They’re shit anyway. And I want a hug.”

And he clung to you like letting go would actually kill him.