It sounds corny and vague. People always talk about feeling safe with someone and you wonder what it even means. I still don’t really know. All I know is that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m clutching a giant thing of pepper spray or reliving a moment of being carried to bed by my parents when I was five years old and fell asleep in front of the television. — Ryan O’Connell
It is a certain kind of fear, a certain kind of betrayal, that takes a kind and open man and turns him distant and cold. It takes the heart out of the man and beats it until nothing but bruises and broken blood vessels remain and all the earnestness is replaced with dread.
Every extended hand could be followed by rough fists.
Every smile could hide mocking laughter.
Every invitation could be false.
Every person could be another abuser, another mistake.
And so Tin learned after Tul to never let anyone so close that he could be hurt again. Tin’s lack of trust wasn’t entirely from disdain for the poor but Tin’s decision to never trust was born out of fear.
But Can ended up different, felt different, was different from every person Tin had ever kept at arm’s length. Can was straightforward and obvious. There was no chance Can would lie because there was no reason for him to.
Even when he was mad, Can vocalized every thought and emotion.
And Tin couldn’t help himself. No matter how annoyed or angry he was at Can, there was always a small part of him that whispered, “But we are safe here. Can will not lie to you about how he feels. You will know because he will tell you everything.”
That part of Tin only grew louder and louder the more he got to know Can, the more Tin fell for Can. On their first proper date, the voice urged Tin to tell Can the truth, to tell him the whole story. Tin did, realizing it was safe to do so, that Can would listen and believe him.
The feeling of relief was overwhelming afterwards.
And soon it was not just relief or love that Tin felt. It was trust and safety too.
Tin’s mask of cold indifference was almost painful to put on now, but whenever Can was around, it was okay to let the mask slip. To be the person Tin wanted to be, to allow people, to allow Can in.
Can could see it, could visibly tell that with just his hand in Tin’s, the walls were falling. Tin’s shoulders didn’t look so stiff, his eyes were warmer, and his words weren’t so cutting. With Can at his side, Tin felt safe enough to pull himself back together into the person he once was.
And when they were alone together, Tin allowed himself to seek comfort in Can’s warmth and smell. It was like Tin was recharging himself, trying to find the energy to protect himself and yet let people in again.
Can allowed it, encouraged it, whispered sweet endearments in Tin’s ears during those times, rubbed Tin’s back, and dried his tears if any fell.
These moments of weakness were the greatest gift that Can could receive from Tin. They were proof of just how far Tin had come, and how hard he was trying.
And Can swore he’d damn any person who would hurt Tin ever again.
But first he needed a bigger pot to burn all the salt and chili for cursing Tul.
The Last Good Bar 
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