Chapter 21 #2
Kieran was pretending to read a book in the living room while Vale worked on his laptop when his curiosity got the best of his mouth.
“You’re n-not wearing your gl-glasses.”.
“Contacts,” Vale said without looking up. “The glasses were annoying me.”
Later, when Vale asked about his favorite color, his hand went to his face again, as if to push his nonexistent glasses up his nose.
“Green,” Kieran said, watching the movement carefully. “Like new leaves. The bright kind.”
“Green,” Vale repeated. “I’ll remember that.”
The rose the next morning was green—unusual, almost artificial-looking, but undeniably the shade Kieran described.
I don’t know what this means.
Just tell me what it means.
He was still waiting for the violence to return. For Vale’s patience to run out. For the basement door to open and reveal that this had all been another kind of lesson—teaching Kieran to crave gentleness so the next round of pain would hurt more.
Vale touched him constantly now. Not violently, not even sexually, just..
. constantly. A hand in his hair while they sat together.
Fingers trailing across his shoulders when Vale walked past. An arm around his waist, pulling Kieran back against his chest while they stood in the kitchen waiting for coffee to brew.
“Sit with me,” Vale would say, patting the couch cushion beside him. Or sometimes: “Come here,” and Kieran would find himself pulled into Vale’s lap, arranged like a doll until Vale was satisfied.
It should have felt like ownership. Like another collar made flesh and proof that Kieran’s body was no longer entirely his own. And it did feel like that, sometimes. But it also felt... warm. Safe. Like being wanted in ways that had nothing to do with pain or performance.
His hands would trace patterns on Kieran’s arms, his back, his shoulders—possessive, but never crossing into intimate territory. He’d pull Kieran close enough to feel Vale’s arousal pressed against him, but neither ever acknowledged it.
It made Kieran hyper-aware of his own body without ever providing clarity about what Vale actually wanted.
One afternoon, they were on the couch—Kieran was curled up along Vale’s side, his head resting on his shoulder because that’s where Vale wanted him, tapping a beat out on his knees as potential lyrics ran through his mind.
Vale was scrolling through something on his tablet while stroking Kieran’s shoulder with his free hand.
“What do you like to do?” Vale asked. “To relax. When you’re not working on music.”
The question felt loaded. “I used t-to watch anime. Before I had to c-c-cancel my subscription and p-pawn my TV.”
Vale’s hand stilled against his shoulder. “What kind?”
“D-different things.” Kieran kept his tone neutral. “It w-was nice to not think for a while.”
Vale’s fingers hooked under his collar, tilting Kieran’s face up. “What was your favorite?”
Why does he care?
“Just—there’s one I r-really liked. About a de-depressed host f-for a children’s sh-show.” Kieran stumbled over the words. “It’s n-not important.”
“I’d like to see it,” Vale said. His gaze dropped to Kieran’s lips while he spoke with that intense stare that made Kieran’s stomach churn. “I’ve never actually watched anime. I know some producers in Japan who work on soundtracks, but I’ve never seen one myself.”
Kieran blinked. “Never?”
“I don’t watch television,” Vale said. His hand went toward his face again—reaching for absent glasses—then his fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose instead. “Occasionally, I see a movie, but otherwise, I’ve always just worked.”
The admission felt too personal. Too revealing. What will this cost me?
“What about wh-when you were a k-kid?” The question came out before Kieran could stop it.
Something shadowed Vale’s expression. “My parents didn’t believe in television. Cartoons especially. They thought they were juvenile. A waste of time better spent on productive pursuits.”
Oh. That explained a lot, actually. The way Vale approached everything like work. The obsessive focus. The inability to just... exist without purpose.
“That s-sounds lonely,” Kieran said quietly.
Vale’s eyes fixed on his face. “Perhaps. But it made me good at what I do.”
And terrible at everything else.
The next morning, there was a massive television on the living room wall.
Kieran stared at it while eating breakfast, trying to understand the angle. A small remote sat on the coffee table next to a note:
For whenever you feel like it. No subscription needed. -V
This had to be a trap. Some kind of test.
He didn’t touch it all day.
By the evening, when Kieran retreated to his room for one of his usual boredom naps, Vale appeared a few moments later. “You didn’t watch anything today.”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation.
“I didn’t know if I should,” Kieran said carefully.
Vale sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s for you. To use whenever you want.” His fingers found Kieran’s collar, tugging him closer. “Show me the one you mentioned. I meant it when I said I’d like to see it.”
He’s serious. He actually wants to—
“Okay,” Kieran heard himself agree. “But you have t-to actually p-pay attention. Not ju-just put it on while you work.”
Vale’s smile looked genuine. “You have my complete attention.”
And so they watched.
Vale pulled Kieran into his lap and handed him the remote before adjusting the couch cushions so Kieran was sort of draped over him like an overgrown lapdog. The opening played, and Kieran kept glancing at Vale’s face, trying to read his reactions.
Is he bored?
What does he want from this?
But Vale engaged with it.
“The way they use color,” Vale murmured. “It’s more sophisticated than I expected.”
“It’s n-not just cartoons,” Kieran said, then caught himself. That sounded defensive. Like he cared what Vale thought.
Vale’s hand squeezed his shoulder. When Kieran looked up, Vale was staring at him with that intensity that made his breath catch.
“You’re different when you talk about things you like,” Vale said softly. “More yourself.”
More myself. As if Vale had any idea who that was.
But Kieran let himself relax further into the cushions, choosing comfort over constant vigilance. Just for a little while longer.
By the third episode, he was comfortable. Languid, even. Vale’s thumb traced absent patterns on his arm, and Kieran found himself actually watching the show instead of watching Vale watch him.
“Thank you for showing me,” Vale said when they stopped. He nuzzled against Kieran’s temple. “I understand why it appeals to you.”
Of course you do. You understand everything. That’s the problem.
It had been ten days since the seizure.
Ten days ago, he might have tried to stab Vale with the chef knife he was holding.
Or he would have at least entertained the idea of it.
Instead, they were making dinner together.
Vale was at the stove, and Kieran was chopping vegetables, and it felt so absurdly domestic that Kieran’s brain kept trying to reject the entire situation.
Vale talked about work—some client who wanted something impossible. “He wanted me to incorporate whale songs into a luxury resort commercial,” Vale said, stirring the sauce. “But he said the whales sounded ‘too aggressive.’ He wanted them to sound...” Vale paused, his brow furrowed. “...sexy.”
Kieran’s knife stilled against the cutting board. “Wh-what?”
“Sexy whale songs.” Vale’s tone was perfectly flat, deadpan. “I told him that was the stupidest fucking thing I’d ever heard.”
The casual profanity from Vale caught Kieran so off-guard that he just stared for a moment. Then the full absurdity of sexy whale songs hit him, and he started laughing. Actually laughing, not the careful sounds he usually made, but genuine laughter that came from somewhere deep in his belly.
“D-did you—” Kieran tried to ask through his laughter. “Did you ac-act-actually do it?”
“I had Eliza mess with the layers and filters for three hours,” Vale admitted. His expression remained serious, which somehow made it funnier.
“How d-do you—” Kieran was still laughing, his shoulders shaking. “How do you m-make a whale s-sound sexy?”
Vale set down his spoon. His face held not even a hint of a smile, as he said, “Like this.”
Then he made a sound—a low, breathy whale call that somehow managed to sound sultry and ridiculous at the same time. It was absurd. It was perfect. It was the most un-Vale thing Kieran had ever witnessed.
Kieran doubled over, the knife clattering to the cutting board as he braced himself against the counter, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.
When he finally composed himself and looked up, wiping at his eyes, Vale had gone completely still.
His face transformed—the calculating intensity replaced by something open and unguarded. His eyes were huge, almost wondering, and he wore an open-mouthed, dumb, slightly crooked smile. He looked like a kid who asked for one scoop of ice cream and was handed a cone with seventeen.
“What?” Kieran asked, his laughter fading into self-consciousness.
“Nothing,” Vale said, schooling his features back into his usual smile. “I just—um, I like hearing you laugh.”
The observation made Kieran’s chest tight. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been performing compliance until this moment of genuine response.
Vale reached out, his fingers finding the collar to pull Kieran in. He pressed a kiss to Kieran’s forehead, lingering there. “Do that more often,” he said against Kieran’s skin. “Let yourself feel joy.”
The permission felt dangerous, but Kieran found himself nodding anyway.