Epilogue
September
Stefan
The church was filled with the low murmur of conversation, the soft shift of leather, the occasional creak of movement as people settled into their pews. We might not have been there to worship, but the air carried a kind of reverence.
I had always appreciated that about the Classic Meets Fetish concert. Tonight, however, my attention was elsewhere.
Kieran stood beside the piano, speaking quietly with Tyrone, his posture relaxed, his expression focused. He wore black leather—clean lines, understated, nothing excessive—and it suited him in a way that still caught me off guard.
He inhabits it completely.
There was no hesitation left, no trace of the man who’d once stood outside Prinzknecht, uncertain whether to step inside.
Except that wasn’t true. That man was still there, no longer held back by uncertainty, no longer defined by it.
The man standing on that stage had taken his place gradually over the last nine months.
Kieran was more confident, more self-assured, more certain of what he wanted.
And unafraid to grab it.
The man I love.
Kieran turned, catching my eye across the space. His brief smile was only for me. I inclined my head in return, then glanced around me, looking for familiar faces.
Karl sat about four rows from the front, his attention fixed on the programme in his hands, my empty seat next to his. On his other side were Diana and Miles, leaning towards each other, speaking quietly.
It was a strange thing, seeing all the threads of Kieran’s life gathered in one place. Manchester, Berlin, past, present…. Not in conflict, but aligned.
Everyone took their seats and the concert began.
Music filled the space, each performance received with attentive silence.
When it was Kieran’s turn to walk onto the stage, my chest swelled with pride.
I had to smile, remembering his reaction at Easter when Tyrone had contacted him to ask if he would consider performing.
His smile hadn’t quit for a week.
Kieran acknowledged the audience with a small, composed nod before taking his seat at the piano.
He sat there for a moment, still, focused, and then the first notes carried through the space, clean and deliberate, Beethoven unfolding with quiet authority, the harmonies settling into the room as though they belonged there.
I’d heard him rehearse this repeatedly. I knew every phrase, every shift, and yet this was not the same.
His playing had changed. Not in technique—that had never been in question—but in intent.
There was a willingness to let the music breathe rather than control it, to shape without forcing, to follow where it led instead of dictating the direction.
I saw it for what it was. Trust, in the music, in himself. I recognised it immediately, because I knew where it had come from. This was not simply interpretation.
This was Kieran, unfiltered and unrestrained. There was a certainty to his playing that filled me with joy to hear it.
When the final note faded, the silence held for a fraction longer than expected, as though the audience had needed a moment to return to itself.
Then the applause began, and Kieran stood, acknowledging it with a bow.
I loved the air of satisfaction that clung to him, how unshaken he seemed by the rapturous reception.
I would have loved to have him sit next to me for the remainder of the concert, but he had to stay backstage. I’d have to wait until the interval.
Then it hit me.
He hadn’t moved.
Instead, he stepped forward again, his hand resting on the edge of the piano.
“There is something else I would like to play for you now.” His German was fluent, effortless. “A premiere.”
Next to me, Karl shifted in his seat.
Kieran continued. “This is a piece I have been working on for some time.” He paused. “It was written for my partner, Stefan Weber.”
I didn’t move. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d heard him correctly.
Around me, there was a subtle shift, as people’s attention sharpened.
I was aware of Karl, sitting so very still. Diana leaned forward to catch my eye. A few rows behind me, I caught Dieter’s unmistakable throaty chuckle.
All of that felt distant, because Kieran chose that moment to turn his head and seek me out. Our eyes met, and my chest tightened.
This was neither spontaneous nor impulsive. This wasn’t something he had decided in the moment.
This has been planned.
For me.
And then I realised that whatever this was, I wasn’t prepared for it.
Kieran sat once more at the piano, placed his fingers on the keys, and began.
I recognised it almost immediately, the same piece I’d heard in fragments a year ago, when it had existed only as something half-formed, something he hadn’t yet trusted enough to name.
It had changed.
The opening bars unfolded slowly, moving with a kind of quiet curiosity, as if the music was feeling its way forward, testing each step before committing to it.
This was Kieran at the beginning, careful, trying to understand where he stood, what he was.
Then it shifted, growing warmer, steadier, another harmony entering, another voice, and they moved together, sometimes in tension, sometimes in ease, like a conversation.
Like us.
The harmonies broadened, opened out, no longer searching in the same way. There was still movement, still forward motion, but it was as if Kieran had found his footing, not because the ground had become stable, but because he had.
A brief stillness slid out on the air, and then the theme returned, altered now, fuller, the earlier hesitation replaced with something quieter and far more dangerous.
Trust.
I exhaled slowly. Around me, the audience was still, but I was no longer aware of them.
Only of this, of him.
The final passage built without force, resolving into something sustained. The last chord lingered, and then there was silence.
For a moment, I didn’t move, because I understood, with absolute clarity, that this was not just a piece of music.
It was what he’d made of us, what he’d taken and transformed.
The whole audience was on their feet, the applause loud and unrelenting. Kieran stood on the stage, the moment totally his. His gaze met mine, and he blew me a kiss, then disappeared backstage.
The interval couldn’t come fast enough.
The corridor leading to the rear of the church was quieter, the sound of the audience fading behind closed doors.
I stepped into the room to find Kieran in conversation with another pianist. Greg, I remembered.
He clapped Kieran on the arm, then moved past me toward the door, a brief swell of noise following him before it closed again.
Kieran stood by the window, watching me as I crossed the floor to join him.
I had no idea what my first words would be.
I hadn’t heard a single note of the performances that had followed his.
I’d done nothing but think about what I would say to him, and now that I was there, whatever I’d prepared to say had fled.
For a moment, neither of us said anything, and then I found my voice.
“You didn’t warn me,” I croaked.
“No.”
I stepped closer. “You were playing it a year ago,” I said. “In my apartment.”
He blinked. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything where you’re concerned.” I reached for him then, my hand settling at his jaw, my thumb brushing once, grounding both of us.
Kieran was trembling.
“I let you walk away once.” I cupped his cheek. “I’m not doing it again. Because now I know.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “What do you know?”
I closed the gap and kissed him on the lips, then pressed my forehead to his.
“You are my life now.”
I let the silence sit, because I wanted him to hear all of it.
I slid my hand to his nape, then looked into his eyes.
“Marry me.”
Kieran stared at me, his eyes wide.
I took a breath. “I’m not asking impulsively. I don’t do that. You know I don’t.” Another breath. “I’m asking because I’ve already made the decision.” My thumb moved over the warm skin at the back of his neck. “There isn’t a version of my life that exists without you in it. And—”
He cut off my words with a kiss that wasn’t gentle or careful, his hands on my face, pulling me into him, the kiss leaving no space for doubt or question.
When he pulled away, his breath was unsteady, his eyes bright.
“Yes.” Then he smiled. “Yes.”
That was all I needed.
I held him close, and this time the kiss was different.
Slower, sweeter, with as much love as I could pour into it.
We were the last to leave. Karl had already taken Diana and Miles to the bar where the after-party was taking place, and I’d assured them we would follow in due course.
Neither of us made any real effort to do so.
Outside, the night had settled into something quieter, the earlier energy of the crowd softened into a low hum that drifted through the streets. Kieran’s hand slipped into mine as we stepped out onto the pavement, the gesture instinctive.
I closed my fingers around his without hesitation.
We walked without speaking at first, our pace unhurried, our destination not tugging us forward. The music still lingered somewhere beneath everything, not in sound but in memory, in the way it had settled into me and refused to fade.
“You’re very quiet.”
I chuckled. “I’m thinking.”
“To quote you, that’s always dangerous.”
I smiled. “Less so than it used to be.” I squeezed his hand. “You were amazing tonight. Both performances.”
“Am I forgiven for springing it on you?”
“That depends.” I grinned. “Am I forgiven for proposing the way I did?”
“Isn’t it supposed to be that way?” He laughed. “I think Oscar Wilde nailed it when he had a character say that an engagement should be a surprise, pleasant or otherwise.”
“The surprise is waiting for you at home.”
Kieran blinked. “What surprise?”
“Later. Party first. Our friends are waiting for us at—”
“What surprise?” he demanded.
I stopped, lifted his hand to my lips, and kissed it. “Today is an anniversary. A year ago, we made love for the first time, and you discovered—”
“Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens?” His eyes gleamed.
I rolled my eyes. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
Kieran closed the gap, until all I could feel was his warm body against mine. “What’s my surprise?” His hands were at my waist, keeping me there, letting me feel hardness inside those tight leather pants.
Kieran wasn’t above fighting dirty when he wanted something.
“Well….” I hesitated, knowing his curiosity would not be contained for long.
“There might be some new toys in the drawer next to the bed.” I paused.
“And because I made a promise, and because we’ve been working our way towards a particular destination, I bought some new lube.
” I fell silent, letting him connect the dots.
Kieran’s breathing stuttered. “Really?”
“If that’s what you still want.”
The way his lips collided with mine was answer enough.
I loved how he’d embraced all aspects of my life during the last year. I also loved his eagerness, his acceptance, his intelligence, his music, his sense of humour…
“There’s no part of you that I don’t love,” I murmured. Then I finally voiced the thought that had been in my head so often during the last months. “And nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Kieran didn’t hesitate. “Good.” His hand was gentle on my nape. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
THE END