Chapter 21
We close our eyes, tell our lies, sometimes too scared to be alive…
Kieran
Kieran woke to silence.
For a moment, he lay still, noting the absence of an immediate threat. No restraints. No looming presence. Just morning light filtering through the drawn curtains.
Then he saw it.
A single rose lay on the nightstand, deep red against dark wood.
It had a perfect bloom with the stem trimmed at an angle.
Next to it sat a leather collar—except it wasn’t the same collar from the basement.
The leather looked softer, and when Kieran reached out with tentative fingers, he discovered the inside was lined with fabric that would rest against his skin without chafing.
Why is this here?
Kieran picked up the rose, turning it slowly between his fingers. No thorns. Vale had removed every single thorn, leaving only a smooth stem and perfect petals. Beauty without danger, or danger carefully disguised as beauty.
The door opened before he could decide which.
Vale entered carrying a breakfast tray, dressed casually in dark jeans and a soft sweater that made him look painfully normal. His gaze went immediately to Kieran’s bare neck, then to the collar on the nightstand.
The temperature in the room dropped.
“Good morning.” Vale’s voice stayed neutral as he set the tray on the dresser. “I see you found your gifts.”
Gifts. As if the rose and upgraded restraint were thoughtful presents rather than... whatever this actually was.
“The collar,” Kieran started, his fingers still wrapped around the rose stem. “W-why do I ha-have to—”
Vale crossed the space between them so quickly, Kieran brought his arm up, blocking access to his neck. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but it felt like the right thing to do. Vale picked up the new collar with the same care someone might use for delicate jewelry, then sat on the edge of the bed.
“Arms down,” Vale said, not quite an order, but not quite a request either.
Vale didn’t acknowledge the question, but he also didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard. He just waited for Kieran to comply.
He’s not going to tell me. Whatever the reason is, it’s not something he’s willing to explain. And I don’t know what he’s going to do if I fight him on this.
Kieran lowered his arm, his jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes as Vale fastened the collar around his throat.
The padding made it different. Still present, still a constant reminder of his captivity, but softer. Almost comfortable, if comfort was something that could exist in this context.
Vale’s thumb traced the edge where leather met skin, hooking two fingers beneath it like he was checking the fit on a dog. “Better?”
Kieran swallowed against the weight of it—both the collar and the question. “It’s... d-different.”
“Good different?” Vale’s fingers lingered at Kieran’s throat, possessive even without pressure.
“I d-don’t know yet.”
Vale’s expression softened. “Honesty. I appreciate that.”
He stood, retrieving the breakfast tray. Fruit and yogurt and toast arranged with care. When he set it across Kieran’s lap, his movements were gentle, domestic, completely divorced from the days of brutality he endured in the basement.
“Eat,” Vale said simply. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
And then he left.
He just... left.
Kieran stared at the closed door, at the breakfast tray balanced on his thighs, at the rose still clutched in one hand.
What just happened?
The confusion was worse than a threat. At least a threat was predictable. At least with a threat, Kieran knew where he stood—terrified but clear on the parameters. This? This gentle correction followed by solitude?
What does he want from me? What’s the price for the nicer collar and the thornless rose?
Kieran picked at the fruit, his appetite absent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the knock on the door that would summon him to the basement.
But the hour passed in silence. Just Kieran and the rose that kept catching his eye, perfect and bloodless on the nightstand.
When Vale returned, Kieran sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the rose. He’d been turning it over and over in his hands, searching for meaning in thornless stems and perfect petals.
Vale wasn’t wearing his glasses again, which seemed odd. They didn’t seem like the aesthetic kind of glasses with prescriptionless lenses.
“Good,” Vale said, taking the tray. His eyes tracked to the rose, and something soft crossed his expression. “You kept it.”
“I d-didn’t know what else t-to do with it.”
“You could put it in water. There’s a vase in the bathroom.” Vale set the tray aside, then moved to sit in the armchair near the window. “Come sit with me?”
Kieran felt the expectation underneath. He stood, rose still in hand, and moved toward the chair. Vale’s hand caught his wrist gently, tugging him down, not into the chair, but into his lap.
Kieran’s entire body went rigid.
“Relax,” Vale murmured, one arm wrapping around Kieran’s waist to hold him in place. “I just want to talk. I’d like to know more about you.”
Talk. Like this is normal. Like sitting in your kidnapper’s lap for conversation is something people do.
But Vale’s hold wasn’t painful. His thumb rubbed small circles against Kieran’s hip through his soft pajamas, soothing rather than demanding. Kieran allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders. Not because he trusted Vale, but because fighting required more energy than he had.
“Wh-what do you w-want to know?”
“Everything,” Vale said simply. “But let’s start with something small. What’s your favorite meal? Not what you can afford, but what you’d choose if you could have anything.”
Kieran had to think about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to think about food he would never eat.
Locking those things away in his mind as untouchable was better than feeling the ache of knowing he couldn’t have them.
“I-I don’t know. Maybe p-pasta? The k-kind where the s-sauce has been cooking all day and the kit-kitchen smells like garlic an-n-nd tomatoes. ”
Vale’s eyes fixed on his lips while he answered, intense and unblinking. The attention made Kieran’s words falter, made him hyper-aware of his stutter catching on consonants.
Was that the wrong answer?
Did I fail some test?
Please tell me what you want.
“I’ll make that for you,” Vale said. His fingers hooked gently under Kieran’s collar, not pulling but just... touching. Just a gentle pressure that said I see this, I put this here, I can touch it whenever I want.
“Okay,” Kieran whispered.
Vale’s smile was warm and seemed genuine. “Good boy.”
The roses continued. Every morning, Kieran woke to find a fresh one on his nightstand—red, white, pink, each one perfect and thorn-free. He started putting them in the bathroom vase Vale mentioned, watching the collection grow day by day.
The collar stayed on too. He could almost ignore it, except for the moments when Vale’s fingers would find it—hooking underneath to guide Kieran’s attention, to turn his face, to draw him closer. Always gentle. Never painful. But undeniably possessive.
Vale asked questions. Not about music or art or the video that had made Kieran viral, but about Kieran himself.
“What is one place you’ve always wanted to go? When you were young enough that anything seemed possible?”
They were in the living room, Kieran sitting on the floor with his notepad while Vale worked at his laptop. The question made Kieran’s chest tight.
“One of the co-coasts. I w-wanted to see the ocean, but that’s n-never been an option because of the s-seizures.”
Vale’s hand went to his face, fingers moving toward where his glasses would have been, then stopping mid-motion when they found nothing. The gesture looked automatic, unconscious. His hands clasped together afterward, settling on top of his laptop keyboard.
Is he... nervous?
No. That didn’t make sense. Vale was never nervous. He was calculating, controlled, always three steps ahead. The gesture must mean something else—some tell Kieran hadn’t learned to read yet.
“The ocean is beautiful,” Vale said. “Perhaps we can go one day.”
Yeah right. What is he going to do? Put me in the cargo hold with all the other pets?
That evening, Vale made the pasta he promised. The kitchen filled with the exact smells Kieran longed to smell, and they ate together at the small dining table like this was normal. Like Kieran wasn’t wearing a collar. Like he could leave if he wanted to.
It tasted perfect.
Kieran ate warily, waiting for the price that would inevitably be attached to this kindness. Waiting for Vale to lead him back to the basement. Waiting for the lessons to resume.
But dinner ended with just Vale’s hand in his hair, gentle fingers combing through while they sat on the couch.
No demands.
No instructions.
Just touch that should have felt threatening but somehow didn’t.
When? When is he going to stop being gentle?
Vale appeared with dirt under his fingernails. Just small crescents of dark soil that he didn’t seem to notice. Kieran stared at them while Vale set down lunch.
“Where were you?” Kieran asked before he could stop himself.
Vale followed his gaze to his hands and smiled. “The greenhouse. The heritage roses need attention.” He sat across from Kieran, making no move to wash the dirt away. “They’re particular about their soil composition.”
“You have a greenhouse?”
“Several, actually.” Vale’s eyes fixed on Kieran’s face, studying his reaction. “I’ll show you sometime, if you’d like.”
Kieran nodded, not trusting his voice. Vale reached across the table, fingers hooking under Kieran’s collar to tug him forward slightly.
“Eat,” Vale said softly, then released him.
Kieran managed three bites with shaking hands before the intrusive thoughts began, but instead of being about Vale, they were about the comments on the video.
All those people think I’m a liar…