Felon Turned Cowboy

After getting caught stealing from the local convenience store for the fifth time, they gave me a choice: jail time or working at a ranch until I was deemed a responsible member of society.

I'd die before I ended up in a women's prison, so I chose the ranch.

It meant a roof over my head and a warm meal every day. If anything, it was a step up.

I showed up with everything I owned: a backpack, a pair of jeans, socks I'd worn more times than I could count, bloodstained boxers, and the clothes on my back.

I was greeted by a man who was basically the picture-perfect image of an American farm boy.

He was only a few years older than me, twenty-six, but I always thought he acted much older. He was built for this life. Tall, all working muscle, with the kind of mind that seemed capable of figuring everything else out along the way.

His name was Nathen.

I was, for lack of better words, the complete and total polar opposite of him.

At twenty-two, I looked like a teenage boy. My clothes were purposely baggy, hanging off me in places they probably shouldn't. My arms barely filled out the sleeves, and the weight I carried seemed to settle in all the wrong places.

I was nothing like him.

I was envious, to say the least.

"I'm Florian. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I said, trying my best to behave. I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He tilted his head to the side before looking down at the paper notebook he'd pulled from his back pocket.

"Florian?" He frowned at the page. "This here says I was meeting a girl."

"I guess it was wrong..." I cut him off, already hating what always came next. "Must have mixed us up. But I'm the one you're meeting."

He very clearly didn't believe me.

For some reason, though, he humored me.

"Oh, I see. I hate when that happens."

His eyes traveled over me again before he motioned for me to follow.

I did.

He led me to a small shack with two beds sitting side by side.

"This is where you'll be staying."

He pointed toward one of the beds.

"And this is my area."

He pointed toward the other.

I knew I was fucked at that moment.

"Wait. We share a room?"

"Of course." He looked genuinely confused. "It's a bunkhouse."

"I... don't think that's--"

"Anyway." He cut me off before I could finish. "You can put your stuff there. I'll show you around."

I stared at the bed he'd pointed to.

Then at him.

Then back at the bed.

Apparently, my punishment was going to be worse than jail.

The horror only continued to grow as he took me around the ranch.

Apparently, you took your horse everywhere because of how gigantic the place was.

There were fields and fields of grass, horses, fences, barns, more horses, and enough horse shit to make me question every decision I'd ever made in my life.

I almost envied jail.

Almost.

Then he'd say my name.

"This here is Florian. He'll be our new crew member for a while."

And suddenly, it was worth it again.

It was strange.

Nathen was a very simple man. As long as you worked hard and treated him with respect, he'd respect you in return. There were no tricks to him. No guessing what he wanted. No pretending.

If you did your job, he left you alone.

If you did something wrong, he told you.

And if you did something well, he'd give you a small nod and a quiet, "Good work."

For some reason, that little bit of praise meant more to me than it probably should have.

I wasn't used to people expecting anything good from me.

Most people had already decided what I was before I'd opened my mouth.

A thief.

A delinquent.

A problem.

Nathen didn't seem to care.

As far as he was concerned, I was Florian.

I had a job.

I had responsibilities.

And apparently, I was going to learn how to shovel an ungodly amount of horse shit.

It was nice.

Almost unsettlingly nice.

And the longer I stayed, the more I found myself wanting to prove that he hadn't made a mistake bringing me here.

I wanted him to look at me and see someone worth keeping around.

Someone he could trust.

Someone who would show up when he said five in the morning and actually get the work done.

It made me want to be a good man.

For him.

He didn't seem to mind my requests for privacy when I changed or bathed.

"Both men here," he'd say, already turning his back. "I don't see why it matters."

He never seemed to understand what that did to me.

My face would burn every time.

He'd turn away without another thought, giving me the privacy I'd asked for as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Maybe to him, it was.

I think that's where it started.

Whatever it was I had with that place.

The urge to be a good man for him.

I spent my first week working myself to the bone.

I wasn't like Nathen. I didn't have his strength or his endurance. I'd spent most of my life living off scraps, and the only exercise I'd ever gotten was running away from cops.

Nathen made sure I knew it.

"Lift with your legs."

"I am."

"No, you're using your back."

"I know how to lift a box."

"Then why are you doing it wrong?"

I hated when he did that.

Not because he was mean.

Because he was right.

He never laughed when I couldn't keep up. Never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. He'd simply show me again.

Then he'd hand it back.

"Try it."

So I did.

Over and over.

He taught me how to mend fences, how to handle a horse without making it nervous, how to sharpen a tool properly, how to tell when something was wrong with one of the animals before it became a real problem.

He taught me to check my work twice.

To put things back where I found them.

To show up when I said I would.

To finish something just because I'd started it.

"Your word matters," he'd told me once when I tried to get out of a job I'd promised to finish.

I'd laughed at first.

He hadn't.

So I'd gone back and finished it.

That night, when I returned to the bunkhouse, he looked at the fence I'd repaired.

"Good work."

Two words.

They stayed with me longer than they should have.

Because Nathen never seemed particularly interested in what I had been before I came here.

He didn't care about the things I'd stolen or the places I'd slept or how many times I'd been arrested.

He cared about what I did now.

And somehow, that was more frightening than being judged for my past.

Because every morning I woke up with the strange feeling that I had something to prove.

Not to the court.

Not to the people who'd sent me here.

To myself.

And maybe to him.

I wanted to be the kind of man Nathen treated me like I already was.

A man who could be trusted.

A man who worked for what he had.

A man who kept his word.

A man who could stand beside another man without feeling like he was pretending.

I didn't know if Nathen understood what he was giving me.

Maybe he didn't.

Maybe to him, he was just teaching some useless ranch hand how not to break his back while lifting a feed bag.

But every time he handed me a tool instead of doing the work himself, every time he trusted me with something important, every time he looked at me and simply said, "Good work, Florian," I felt a little less like the person I'd been before.

And a little more like the man I'd always wanted to become.

When he took me shopping during my third week, I followed him around the store without a second thought.

He picked out my work shirts, jeans, and a pair of leather boots.

"Try these."

I did.

"Those fit better."

I changed.

"Get the red one too."

I looked at myself in the mirror.

I barely recognized myself.

They were just work clothes. Nothing fancy. But they actually fit. Made me look less like some skinny kid who'd been dropped off at the ranch and more like I belonged there.

When I came out, Nathen looked me over.

"That looks good on you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Red suits you."

I looked away, pretending to be interested in the shirts.

Nathen gave me a sideways look.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He snorted.

"Don't get all weird about it."

"I'm not."

"You're turning red."

"I'm not."

"You are."

I grabbed the shirt off the rack.

"I'm getting it."

"Good."

He turned back toward the shelves.

Then, like it was an afterthought, he added, "Might have the ladies looking twice now."

I looked at him.

"What?"

He shrugged.

"You're cleaned up. Got decent clothes. Boots that actually fit. You'll probably have them asking who the new ranch hand is."

I didn't know what to say to that.

Nathen looked at me again.

"Just don't let it go to your head."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Good."

He grabbed another shirt and tossed it at me.

"Try that one."

I caught it.

For some reason, I couldn't stop smiling.

It was ridiculous how much a few simple words could affect me.

I'd spent years trying to convince myself I was a man while everyone around me seemed determined to make me prove it.

Nathen never asked me to prove anything.

He just treated me like one.

When we left the store, I carried the bags.

Nathen didn't offer to take them.

He just trusted me to carry my own things.

For once, I didn't mind the weight.

I liked it.

When we got a rare evening off, Nathen took me to the local bar.

It was a lot different from the places I usually ended up. There was nothing fruity or garnished, just shitty beer and brown liquor.

I stood with him by a pool table, watching the women line dance. Their bodies moved in sync, boots hitting the floor together. I couldn't stop watching.

Nathen nudged my shoulder.

"One of 'em will ask you to dance next song. It's a partner dance, so don't mess it up."

I looked at him.

"Why would they ask me?"

He glanced over at me.

"You're hot and you're fresh. Why wouldn't they?"

I barely had time to hide my reaction before a blonde woman walked over.

She smiled at me.

"Want to dance?"

I froze for half a second.

Then I looked at Nathen.

He just raised his eyebrows, like he'd been expecting it.

"Sure," I said, hoping I didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

She took my hand and led me onto the dance floor.

I had no idea what I was doing.

She laughed when I missed a step, then showed me where to put my feet. After a few minutes, I stopped worrying about everyone watching and just followed her lead.

When the song ended, she smiled.

"You did pretty good."

"Thanks."

She lingered for a second before heading back toward her friends.

I watched her go, still trying to process what had just happened.

Then I looked over at Nathen.

He was grinning.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

He took a drink.

"Told you."

I looked down at my beer, trying to hide the smile on my face.

For once, I didn't feel like the strange new guy who didn't belong.

I just felt like a young man standing in a bar, getting noticed.

And, God help me, I liked it.

I came home drunker than I intended that night. A lot more confident than I probably should have been.

When Nathen and I entered our bunkhouse, I undressed without even remembering to ask him to turn around.

He said nothing and did the same.

I had my chest binder on and struggled to unclip it. My fingers kept slipping, and the harder I tried, the more frustrated I got.

I finally stopped.

I stared down at my hands, suddenly very aware of where I was and who I was standing beside.

Nathen noticed.

He didn't stare.

He didn't ask what was wrong.

He only asked one question.

"Need a hand?"

My throat tightened.

I said one word.

"Yes."

He came over and undid the clasp for me, taking his time as he helped unwrap it. He stopped before I was exposed and stepped away without being asked.

Just like that.

No questions.

No awkwardness.

No making me feel like I'd done something wrong.

He'd helped because I'd asked him to.

That was all.

I sat there for a moment, holding the binder in my hands.

I don't think he understood what that meant to me.

Maybe that was what made it mean so much.

Nathen never made me explain myself to earn his respect.

He just gave it to me.

I undid the rest myself, looking at him as I said,

"Men don't sleep with shirts on."

He smiled.

It was a small smile, but one that still haunts my mind.

"They sure don't, Florian."

I had very shameful dreams that night.

I didn't regret it in the morning.

Time seemed to creep by for the next few days. Then one afternoon, the sky turned dark and the rain started--steady at first, then heavier. By evening, it was coming down hard enough that we couldn't work outside.

We were trapped inside the bunkhouse.

We passed the time telling stories, drinking whiskey he had kept hidden, and playing cards.

After I told him a story about the first girl I ever kissed, I asked him about his.

He was silent for a moment.

His next words truly doomed us both.

"Florian, I don't like girls."

I'll admit it now. I didn't have the best reaction.

"What? But you're so--so cowboy?"

He stared at me for a second.

Then he laughed.

"And cowboys can't like other cowboys?"

"I didn't say that."

"You sure looked like you were thinking it."

He picked up his cards again, looking entirely too amused with himself.

"I didn't see you as one to judge like that, Florian."

"I'm not judging you."

"Good."

He looked back at his cards.

"Because I was starting to think I was going to have to throw you out into the rain."

I laughed despite myself.

The awkwardness started to fade.

"So," I said, "when did you figure that out?"

He shrugged.

"Probably before I had words for it."

He was quiet for a moment before continuing.

"My first kiss was the preacher's son. He was around my age. We grew up side by side. Always helping each other's families. Fishing every weekend we could."

He smiled faintly.

"He was my best friend."

I listened without interrupting.

"He kissed me while we were camping."

I raised my eyebrows.

Nathen laughed.

"Let's just say we didn't get much fishing done that weekend."

I shook my head.

"You're telling me the preacher's son was your first kiss?"

"Sure was."

"And nobody found out?"

"Not that I know of."

He took another drink and leaned back in his chair.

"Some things are better kept between two people."

For some reason, that sentence stuck with me.

I looked at him a little longer than I meant to.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes met mine across the table, and for once, neither of us looked away immediately.

There was something different in the room now.

Nothing had actually changed.

He was still Nathen. I was still Florian. The rain was still beating against the roof.

But now I knew.

And somehow, knowing made me wonder what else I didn't know about him.

Nathen finally broke the silence.

"You gonna keep staring at me?"

I looked back down at my cards.

"No."

He smiled.

"Sure, Florian."

I could hear the amusement in his voice.

How easily he could make me nervous.

I wasn't entirely sure I wanted him to stop.

I looked down at my cards, pretending they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. I could feel the heat creeping into my face.

"I, uh..."

Nathen waited.

I swallowed before forcing myself to look at him.

"I also like cowboys."

He raised an eyebrow.

"And cowgirls."

For a second, he said nothing. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I looked back at my cards. "I guess I'm not exactly picky."

Nathen chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

"Good to know."

I finally looked up at him. He was still smiling, but he wasn't laughing at me. Somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"You're looking at me funny."

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

He shrugged, that same faint smile still on his face.

"Just didn't expect that answer."

"Why?"

"Don't know." He picked up his cards again. "Guess I figured you were more complicated than that."

I laughed.

"That's your big conclusion?"

"Pretty much."

He dealt the next hand, and I caught myself smiling.

Somehow, admitting it out loud hadn't been nearly as terrifying as I'd expected.

Maybe because Nathen hadn't made it weird.

Or maybe because, for the first time, I wasn't sure which one of us was more interested in the other person's answer.

The rain let up by evening, and we went back to work the next day like nothing had changed. But something had. We both knew it.

A few days later, the weather turned again. Dark clouds rolled in while we were up on the barn roof patching a leak, and before we could finish, the sky opened up. We got absolutely soaked trying to secure the tarp, rain pouring down our necks and soaking through our clothes.

By the time we made it back to the bunkhouse, we were both shivering and dripping water everywhere.

We both undressed and wrapped ourselves in blankets.

It wasn't enough.

"You're shaking like a chihuahua." He opened his blankets slightly. "I'm freezing too--we should cuddle for warmth. Getting hypothermia is dangerous."

"I'm fine..."

"Okay, damn it, fine--I'm also freezing my ass off and need the warmth."

I cautiously got into bed with him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

He had no hesitation as he wrapped his thick arms around me. I held my breath for a moment before releasing it slowly. I had no pure intentions after that.

"You're so warm... this is nice."

I laughed. "Fuck off."

His hands drifted around me, tentative at first, then more certain--fingers tracing the curve of my shoulder, my ribs, my waist. I felt seen in a way I'd never been before, like he was mapping me out, learning me. My breath caught. "This is more than nice, Florian." His voice was rough, almost reverent, and I realized he meant it--really meant it. His breath sped up, matching mine. "It's normal for bunkmates to get lonely up here..."

His hand stilled on my waist. The weight of it there, the heat of his palm through my shirt, made everything else fall away. I understood what he was asking without him saying it outright. My heart hammered against my ribs.

I rolled around to face him, my shoulder pressing against the narrow wall of the bunk as I shifted my weight. The confined space made every movement deliberate, intimate--there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to retreat. My legs tangled with his as I turned, and I could feel the solid warmth of him taking up space beside me.

My stomach twisted with nerves and anticipation. When I finally faced him, our eyes met in the dim light, and I saw the question there--the wanting. His chest rose and fell quickly, matching the frantic pace of my own breathing.

His eyes were wide as saucers.

He brought a rough, calloused hand to my face, brushing it softly--the contrast between his gentleness and the weathered texture of his palm sent a shiver through me. I felt my pulse jump under my skin. My breath caught. This was really happening.

I brought my rough and calloused hand to his neck, feeling his pulse quicken under my fingertips. His skin was warm. Real. I could feel him responding to my touch, and something in my chest tightened.

"Florian... I want to kiss you."

I couldn't believe he was the first to say it. Relief and nerves crashed through me at the same time.

My lips answered with a kiss.

He kissed back, and something in me unlocked.

His hands ran up and down my body, sending electricity down my spine. The kiss deepened--he kissed me rough and hungry, claiming my mouth like he'd been waiting for this. I fought for dominance back, pushing against him, needing to meet him halfway. His teeth grazed my lower lip and I gasped into his mouth. My hands gripped his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle there, and I realized I was shaking--not from fear, but from want.

He smiled against my lips. "Good boy."

I hated how that made me fold completely, my resistance melting.

His hands hesitated on my sternum for a moment, asking a silent question.

I grabbed them and brought them up to my chest, giving him permission.

My voice came out breathy as I hummed, "Fuck me like a man."

His eyes darkened with want. "That's exactly what I'm going to do." His hands groped and pinched my chest as he continued to dominate my mouth, and I felt seen--completely, undeniably male in his grip.

I found my hands exploring his chest the same way, mapping the planes of muscle. The narrow mattress forced us closer together, every shift of weight deliberate.

After a moment, his hands drifted down to my thighs. I began to grind against his groin, desperate for friction. My shoulder brushed the wall behind me.

"Are you sure about this?" His voice was low, commanding but careful.

"I need it."

He smiled as he pushed himself up, lowering himself down my body until his head hovered above my pussy. The confined space meant he had to angle himself carefully, his knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. "Then let me suck your dick. You've been so good for me since you came here."

I almost came just from hearing him say that--from hearing him call it what it was.

My t-dick was barely noticeable, but it stood at attention as he put his mouth on it. I groaned and rutted into him as I felt his tongue circle it with deliberate pressure. My hands laced in his curls, gripping tight. My other hand braced against the wall for leverage.

He took it as a challenge and kept going, sucking and licking until my body was on fire from the inside out. The way he worked my cock--treating it with the same attention, the same hunger--made something in my chest crack open.

"I'm gonna-- fuck, Nathen..."

He didn't stop as the pleasure flooded through my body. He took it as I pushed his head down onto my cock, groaning his encouragement.

He smiled and wiped his mouth as I finally had the mind to let go, catching my breath.

"You're so handsome when you cum," he said, his voice rough with arousal.

I laughed breathlessly. "Fuck off."

"I want to see it again." He sat up, leaning down over me and reaching into a drawer beneath the bed to pull out a condom. "Can I?"

I basically begged him to without having to say anything.

"Good boy." The praise washed over me like heat. "I need you to sit up for me and turn over. On all fours."

I flipped over, my knees sinking into the mattress as I braced my hands near the wall. The space was tight--there wasn't much room to maneuver--but that only made it feel more intimate. His hands were already snaking around my pussy. I had to stop myself from leaning into them, from seeming too eager.

I gasped slightly when he entered me with one finger.

"Hold still for me." His voice was firm, commanding. He used his other hand to hold me in place at the small of my back, keeping me steady with more pressure than before.

He inserted another finger and began to slowly bring them in and out together. It was agonizingly slow, deliberate.

I begged him, "Please add more. I can take it."

"Look at you, so eager for me." His words made my head spin. "You want me to go harder?"

"Yes. Please."

He added two more fingers, making me still for a moment as my body adjusted to the stretch.

I was absolutely ruined when he began to pump them inside me, curling them just right--rougher now, more insistent.

"Nathen-- fuck... man..."

"That's right. You're taking it so well." He kept going until I was almost over the edge again, my thighs trembling, his pace relentless.

When he stopped, I whined in protest.

"Can't have that happen yet... It's my turn." I heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper, felt him shifting behind me in the limited space.

He pushed my legs further apart to make room for himself, his grip firm and possessive. I felt his cock brush against my ass and my breath hitched.

"That's all it takes?" he teased, his voice warm with affection.

"Fuck off..."

He tapped it against my ass a few times, laughing softly. "You're such a good boy for me, Florian. Look at you, on your hands and knees, ready to take my cock like the man you are."

The words hit me harder than any physical touch could. I felt my whole body respond, felt myself open up to him.

"You want this?" he asked, his hand firm on my hip.

"Yes. God, yes."

He lined his head up with my entrance and began to push in slowly.

When I felt it finally push inside, I realized it was definitely bigger than his four fingers by a lot more than I expected. The stretch was intense, overwhelming.

He was gentle as he pushed in a little more, giving me time to adjust. "Breathe for me. That's it."

"Stop being so gentle... I can take it."

His grip on my hips tightened. "You sure about that? You want me to really fuck you?"

"Yes. Please, Nathen."

He gripped my hips hard and pulled me back, forcing me to take more a lot faster. The sudden fullness made me gasp. My chest tightened--not from pain, but from the rush of it, from him taking what he wanted without hesitation. This was what I needed.

I clutched the pillow. "Fuck..."

"Take it like a man," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

The words hit different when he said them like that--blunt, certain. I pushed my head into the pillow as he started to push it in and out, adding more and more length with each thrust. The force of it, the way he was taking what he wanted while giving me exactly what I needed--it was perfect. My body was responding to him, to the way he moved, to the certainty in his voice.

"There you go... that's my boy."

I felt so full as he started to speed up. When his skin finally slapped against mine, when he was fully seated inside me, I could barely take it. The impact of each thrust sent electricity through me, and I realized I was shaking--not from struggle, but from how badly I wanted this. The narrow bunk meant every movement pressed us closer, the frame creaking softly beneath us.

"You're so strong, taking me all in like this for the first time..." He kept rhythmically sliding in and out, building a steady rhythm. "Look at you, taking cock like you were made for it."

The praise alone had me dazed, but mixed with his cock pushing against every single pleasure point in my body, I was ruined. Being praised for my strength, for being a man, for taking him--it was everything I needed to hear. My mind went quiet except for one thought: he sees me.

"You're good at this..." was all I could mutter before I groaned out in pleasure.

"You want it rougher?" His voice was strained with need. "Tell me."

"Yes-- fuck, yes--"

He took that as fuel and began to speed up, picking a pace for his own pleasure now. It was rough and deep and barely gave my body time to recover before he was slamming back in again, harder than before. I braced myself, my fingers gripping the pillow so hard I thought it might tear. This was what I'd asked for. This was what I wanted.

"You're so good... fuck, Florian... bent over like this, taking my cock..."

The words landed like a punch to the chest--in the best way. He kept slamming into me, our skin clashing together, the sound of it obscene and perfect. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place as he drove into me. I could feel the bruises forming, and I wanted them. I wanted the evidence.

"You feel that? That's what you do to me. That's how hard you make me." His voice was ragged now, losing control. "Gonna make you mine. You want that?"

"Yes-- please--"

Mine. The possessiveness in his voice made something in me snap into place. He wanted me. He was claiming me. I wasn't an exception or a question mark--I was his.

"Good boy. My good, strong man."

He got frantic, his body chasing the edge as he kept going. I felt every burst of energy, every desperate thrust until I felt him start to slow and twitch. The bunk rocked slightly with the force of it.

A guttural groan came out of his body as he came, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. I felt him slump over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

"That... was amazing, Florian..." he eventually whispered as he slid out of me carefully. He took off the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the trash beside the bed.

He stayed on top of me, cuddling me, his arms wrapped around my chest. In the narrow space, there was nowhere else to be but tangled together.

For a moment, I said something stupid.

"Are you sure it was good? I know you only like guys..."

The words hung there, and I immediately wanted to take them back. What I was really asking was: Am I enough? Does my body confuse things for you? Do you see me as a man, or am I an exception--something you're trying out?

The insecurity clawed at my chest even as the afterglow still hummed through my veins. He'd called me a man, praised me like one, treated me like one. But what if that was just in the moment?

What if, now that it was over, reality would settle back in and he'd remember that my body wasn't like other men's bodies?

He grabbed my chin and pulled my face to his, his eyes fierce--not angry, but intense in a way that made me hold my breath.

"It was amazing... Florian, you're probably the best guy I've ever been with." He kissed me soft, his lips still tasting like me, and I felt something in my chest crack open at the tenderness of it.

"You're a man, Florian. Don't ever doubt that."

The words sank in slowly, and I let myself believe them--at least for now. His thumb traced my jawline gently, and I realized he wasn't going anywhere. The doubt didn't vanish entirely, but it loosened its grip, and I found myself leaning into him instead of away.

I rested my head against the crook of his shoulder, letting his steady weight settle over me while the rain kept drumming its quiet beat against the tin roof. Tomorrow morning would come early, and with it, all the chores, the sore muscles, and the slow, everyday work of building a life I didn't want to run away from.

But lying there in the dark, warm and worn out with Nathen's arm resting heavy across my back, the noise in my head finally went quiet. I didn't have all the answers, and I knew the world outside this ranch wouldn't always be this kind, but for tonight, I was right where I belonged--safe, seen, and ready to wake up tomorrow and keep becoming the man I wanted to be.